Leviathan
by Pen Against Sword
Summary: When Yuffie inherits Wutai's throne, Tseng is not the ally she expects. Among old gods, assassins, and political unrest, they must work together to secure the future and unravel Tseng's past in a country he long ago left behind.
1. Chapter 1

**Author Note**: Hello, readers. Long time no see, eh? Well, I'm hoping that the wait is worth it as I bring you a two-years-long project. I'd like you to know this fanfiction is mostly finished - the second half is in the finishing stages - so you can expect to see it through from the beginning to the end. That I promise you. It'll be about 100,000 words, so you're in for a solid read.

I'd like to give a huge thank you to licoriceallsorts for her laser eye and long characterization conversations, and La Editor for always being able to bounce ideas off of, even at 8pm on the one night I've ever been in New Mexico in my entire life.

I welcome you all to _Leviathan_, and I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I have thoroughly enjoyed writing it.

**Leviathan**

_a Final Fantasy VII fanfiction by Pen Against Sword_

"Strife Delivery Service and Final Heaven Bar, this is Tifa. How may I help you?"

"Tifa? It's Yuffie."

"Yuffie—" A pause, and Tifa's polite phone tone switched to one of concern. "What is it?"

"Tifa, Dad's dying."

"Oh, Yuffie," she sighed. "What can I do to help?"

"I need you in Wutai, Tifa. But if that's too much to ask, I understand. It's really short noti—"

"I'll be there as soon as I can. Let me just get in touch with Reeve and see how fast I can get there. Hang tight, I'll see you soon."

"Okay. You know where to reach me."

.

When Tifa arrived in Wutai, Yuffie greeted her with a hug and a hot meal. After they had time to catch up, she led Tifa to a library located on the palace grounds. Within, about forty long shelves lined up next to each other and along the walls. They were loaded with books and scrolls. High windows filtered the afternoon light, where dust motes drifted.

Reading ancient Wuteng scrolls was slow-going for Tifa Lockhart. Last time she studied Wuteng characters was under Master Zangan. The process got easier with practice, but occasionally she had to stop and ask Yuffie what syllable this or that character represented. She was astonished to see that each scroll was handwritten, and some even had personalized notes in the margins, left by the monks who had recorded them.

"Another dead line. If you follow their family scrolls, it ends when their three sons were slaughtered in the Wutai-Shinra war." Completely lacking the same care as Tifa, Yuffie chucked a scroll between two carved wood pillars at the far end of the room. It bounced off the sixth shelf of a fifteen-foot high scroll-case and landed, forlorn, on the pristine stone floor.

Tifa stared at Yuffie, wondering at her clinical, business-like tone. The dark wood of a shelf framed her, almost blending with her hair, contrasting her white and red kimono sharply. Tifa hadn't asked at the absence of short-shorts and fishnets, though she thought it had something to do with Godo's illness.

"So… do they _have_ to be royalty?"

"No, but that's as good a place as any to start. Less strings to pull if he's got some royal blood, even just a teeny bit."

Anger sizzled through Tifa. "I don't see why you should have to be married at all."

"Wuteng law, Teef. For a thousand years and countless dynasties, it's been their way or they chuck you off one of Da Chao's honorable heads." She laughed, but it sounded forced.

"But you're the sole Kisaragi heir. You should be able to change this."

"Right now, as an unmarried girly heir, I have no power and no say. Once I find the unlucky shmuck who's gonna have to tie the knot with me, _blam_. An all new regime's gonna start in Wutai. You just wait; it'll be awesome." Yuffie grinned then, a flash of her teeth, and bent back over her work.

Tifa covered her smile with her hand and reached for another scroll, selecting from a shelf they hadn't explored yet.

Yuffie stopped her. "No, not that one. That section's for general history." She plucked the scroll from Tifa's hand and unrolled it, scanning the contents. "Plus, you don't wanna read about the Tai Dynasty. They were kind of bloodthirsty."

"The Tai Dynasty?" Tifa asked. Wuteng history and culture were fascinating to her, and staying the capitol with Yuffie had really whetted her appetite for knowledge.

Seeing the look in her friend's eyes, Yuffie handed the scroll back. "Here, you can read it if you want, I guess. The Tai Dynasty's known for being all cut-off-the-hand-of-the-thief and junk. You know, an eye for an eye?"

Tifa tucked the scroll back into place on the shelf. She'd come back and read it later. She plucked a new family scroll from the collection and scanned it.

"How about the Kuchiki family?"

"Oh, man, the older brother in that family is h-o-t _hot_. With a capital 'h.' I wouldn't mind shackling myself to that guy." She paused, chewed her lip, then said, "Provided of course that he'll give me footrubs and do everything I say without question and let me go off fighting monsters whenever I want. Eh, put him on the list. I'll have to see about him."

"Does his younger brother look as good?" she asked, holding up a scroll and pointing to another name.

Yuffie waved a negligent hand. "We'll see."

Tifa scribbled the name down on a piece of paper she kept in her front skirt pocket. "Kuchiki…" So far, it was one of three names recorded. They had been through more than fifty family scrolls so far. Most of them ended around the era of the Wutai-Shinra War. Many families had been cut off completely with the almost-massacre of the Wuteng people.

"Old. Dead. Old, old, oh man way dead, so totally dead," Yuffie muttered, tossing three or four scrolls into a growing pile in the corner. "And… this one's married to my third cousin twice removed on my mother's side anyway."

"Are you sure," Tifa hedged, eyeing the teetering mountain of scrolls, "we should be throwing them in the corner like that?"

"Sure!" She snatched the scroll Tifa was trying to reroll and flung it into a different corner. "On that note, let's make another pile! Woohoo! Gives the librarians something to do. Dusty old fun-suckers."

Tifa, despite Yuffie's enthusiasm, could not find it within her to lob ancient sacred family histories of one of the oldest cultures in the world into a dusty corner of a forgotten scroll room.

"Let's take a break. I'm hungry, and I gotta go see my dad."

Tifa wasn't sure how Lord Godo was faring exactly, but she assumed things were not good. For the past three days staying in Wutai, she had watched Yuffie disappear into Godo's bedchamber, then exit some time later ashen-faced and trembling. Tifa had never seen her like that before. Yuffie had not offered her any details of Lord Godo's illness, and she was afraid to inquire. But when Yuffie said Lord Godo was dying, she knew it was the truth. After each visit, her friend didn't smile, laugh, or crack an inappropriate joke for at least an hour.

After Yuffie's evening visits, they had the finest foods, served by a single maid in Yuffie's rooms.

"It's beautiful here. I never really noticed before now," Tifa said, after some silence filled broken only by satisfied hums and chewing noises.

The official rooms for the ruler of the palace were quite lush. Yuffie had taken up residence in them throughout Godo's sickness, or so she had explained to Tifa at the older woman's wondering look around the place. "It… reminds me of mom," she had said quietly, so Tifa had left the subject alone, choosing instead to study her surroundings.

She had not expected the gorgeous stone floors, pale marble wrapping around intricate dragon designs. In fact, the entire palace seemed somewhat obsessed with dragons, bamboo, and sakura petals. Occasionally, statues of Da Chao or portraits of dead relatives and old battles interrupted the reptilian splendor throughout the rest of the palace, but tasteful, hand-crafted curtains and bedding occupied the bedrooms. Tifa had also not expected the sumptuous, well-stocked vanity table placed discreetly out of the way—it must be left over from Lady Kisaragi's life. She had also taken a peek at behind the connected bathroom door and been a little jealous of the sunken tub.

"What, too distracted by all your empty materia slots?" Yuffie's eyes scrunched just a bit at the corners.

"To be fair, that _was_ kind of pressing at the time." She took another bite of her noodles, struggling to get them all in her mouth without splashing the sauce on her white shirt. After she had finished the blissful bite she said, "Do you think I could make this at home? Maybe the cook could teach me…"

"I have no idea." Yuffie shrugged. "I'm a terrible cook. I'll see if the maid can get the recipe for you."

Tifa frowned thoughtfully. "Is there just the one maid? The palace is immaculate. It can't be the work of just one person."

Yuffie snorted. "I can't say we're straining at the seams with maids. But you should know, Tifa, Wuteng cleaning ladies aren't _royal_ cleaning ladies unless they're ninjas too. You should never, ever catch sight of a _good_ cleaning lady."

"So I'll never see them?"

"Nope."

"How do you find them?"

"You don't."

"What if you need to speak to them?"

"You don't, silly."

"Well, how do you pay them?"

"Leave the money in interesting places, and they find it just fine."

Tifa stared, wondering if Yuffie was serious. She had a sneaking suspicious the ninja was not lying.

They finished their dinner, making idle chit-chat until Tifa paused and cleared her throat. Yuffie raised her eyebrows.

"I just had a thought."

"Yeah?"

"What about Vincent?"

Yuffie stopped picking at the last of her rice and laid down her chopsticks. "I've been thinking about that."

"And?"

She frowned hard. "I just… don't think I could ask him, Tifa."

Already knowing the answer, Tifa asked anyway. "Why not?"

"He's done enough favors for enough people and served so much in his life. I just… think he deserves some peace, and this won't give it to him."

Tifa sighed. "That's really mature of you, Yuffie." She scraped at her rice to no avail. Tifa never had been good at using chopsticks. Yuffie smiled a little, but it looked almost too heavy for her to hold. She looked tired.

Tifa put down her bowl and combed her fingers through her hair. She smelled like the dust in the scroll room, and there was dirt under her fingernails. "We could save him as a last resort in any case."

"Maybe…"

"Yuffie, if it's to save your entire country from having to adjust to a new ruler and to keep the throne in your family's hands, then I think Vincent would do it."

"I know, but I think he's Wuteng from his momma's side of the family. Wutai law is patriarchal. It has to be through the father."

She paused in picking at her nails to shake her head. "I know, I know. You told me."

Yuffie stopped to rub her eyes and yawn. How late was it really? Tifa couldn't find a clock in the room. Another thought struck her then. "Oh, what about Reeve? Is Tuesti a Wuteng name?"

"Same problem," Yuffie said around another yawn, her voice distorted.

"Do you know for sure his father wasn't Wuteng?"

"I called Reeve and asked."

Tifa frowned and rubbed the spot between her thumb and forefinger, feeling a headache coming on. She wondered if Cloud were taking good care of Marlene and Denzel. She hadn't spoken to them since yesterday, and she still didn't quite trust Cloud with the two of them. Her worrying nature always overrode her desire to trust him—or anyone else—with the kids.

She tried picking some of the dust out from underneath her fingernails, slightly disgusted at the result. "Well, is there anyone else you can ask? You've probably thought about this already, but what about someone from your...ah... what is that called? The Five..."

Yuffie rose from their floor-table and went to her dressing table. She returned with a brush, tore it through her hair with astonishing—and by the sounds of her hair ripping, painful—speed, then handed it to Tifa. She said, "When I beat my father in the Pagoda, I billed myself to be the Fifth Mighty God once he died. And the Mighty Gods can't have romantic relationships with each other."

Tifa worked the tangles out of her dusty black hair. "You'll have to explain this one to me."

Yuffie took a deep breath. "Prepare yourself for a short Wuteng reasoning explanation. You ready?"

Hesitating, Tifa stilled. Then she nodded. "I'm ready."

"Royals cannot fraternize with or marry any of the Mighty Gods for several reasons, one being the prevention of inbreeding, as well as a protection of the integrity of Wutai's central government." She sounded as though she had heard this spiel many, many times. "The Mighty Gods are the backbone of the royal family—the council, a board of directors. Relationships within the council must be kept placid and platonic to promote unity and clarity of thought."

Tifa blinked. "How many times did they repeat that to you in Princess-Ninja School?" She handed the brush back after carefully picking all the hair out of it. The mother of pearl handle shone in the low light.

"A _lot. _Like ten billion times."

"I'm guessing they've had some problems with this in the past?"

"Ohhhh, yes. A whole war happened because of it. It was one of Wutai's bloodiest civil wars. Bad breakup and all that mess."

"I see." Wutai would never cease to confound and amaze Tifa, no matter how much she heard about its past and its customs.

"And Shake's really the only option. Gorki's married, Chekov's a woman, and Staniv is too old. I couldn't ruin Shake's life like that. He's young, well, younger than me, and he's got a lot left to do, and I need him right where he's at. Other than me, the Mighty Gods are like the only stable thing this country has. My people are starving in the streets, Teef. I need strong government. And Shake's my friend. I can't make him a figurehead to change things like I can with someone else."

Tifa reflected on Yuffie's recent maturity. A combination of saving the entire planet twice and watching her father dwindle to nothing had carved some new facets in her friend. She yawned. "What time is it, Yuffie?"

Yuffie looked at the darkened window. She shrugged. "Late. I'm tired."

"Me too. Can we pick this up again tomorrow?"

"Sure thing, we'll go back down to the scroll room in the morning. Give the librarians fits. I'm going to bed, Tifa. Don't let the ninja cleaning ladies bite."

.

The date had been arranged, and Yuffie waited in her receiving room (she swore this palace had a room made for everything except maybe a standing-on-your-head-and-pretending-to-be-a-chocobo room) and awaited the arrival of the four suitable bachelors from the scrolls. Tifa could not be present for this event, and Yuffie felt very out of her element as several guards and some female attendants flanked her.

A separate parade of guards flung open the heavy double doors of the room, the swinging brass doorknobs knocking from the rebound. Yuffie shifted subtly in her heavy layered kimonos. Pale greens and yellows draped her today, bringing out the lighter colors in her skin and hair. The first kimono laid out for her had been an awful shade of puce—she'd have to have a talk with the new maid about what colors suited her—but thankfully, she'd remedied that. Her attendants had worked as hard as they could to make her hair semi-presentable, and her bob had been feathered, with beautiful pearl combs wedged behind her ears. She felt naked without her bandana, but lately, there had been no opportunity to wear it.

"Your highness," presented one well-spoken guard, bowing low. "The sons of the houses Shiga, Saitou, and Uryuu."

These were the only suitors they could drum up from the entire genealogy section in the library. She and Tifa had combed it thoroughly. Death, marriage, and age—either too young or too old—had marked most of their choices off the list. Many of the remaining men were engaged or betrothed. Young men of marriageable age, in the wake of the Wutai-Shinra war, were in high demand and short supply.

In a very shallow, superior manner, Yuffie bowed to them. Each of them bowed deeply in turn. The could only have gone lower if they had prostrated themselves before her.

"Good afternoon, sons of the houses Shiga, Saitou, and Uryuu. You are honored to be in the esteemed and high house of Kisaragi. I have called you here today to address the issue of matrimony between myself and one of you."

The smooth, cultured words streamed from her lips with ease, the practice of many good teachers and repetitive lessons over the years. She did not look it or act it, but she knew the ways. She just felt like the ways were full of shit, and she normally made that very clear. But today, no, today had to be special; she had to be on her best behavior, for today, she had narrowed her choices down to three likely suitors.

Now she had to determine which one was the most susceptible to manipulation.

"A meal will be served here in the reception room. Please, have a seat." She waved an elegant hand at the large, circular table before them.

"I am honored, your highness, to have been invited to the palace. I hope that our meeting will be fortuitous," said the eldest of the three men. Crows' feet lined his deep gray eyes, and she recalled that this one was Uryuu. A mop of thick black hair, shot through with silver, had been tied neatly at his neck.

Yuffie had gathered them here as a sort of test. How well did they comport themselves in front of what they must know would be her other suitors? How would they try to conceal their greedier desires? She looked forward to witnessing this spectacle.

She nodded, all demure innocence and vulnerability—_do they buy it? Probably not. _In fact, judging by the eyebrow twitch of the severe, skinny one, she thought they might know. Heck, her reputation most often preceded her.

"You will make a great ruler, Princess Kisaragi," the older man continued. She noticed a mass of scars around his jaw and chin, most likely a product of the Wutai-Shinra War. He looked to be old enough to have fought through it and survived it. "People tell of your exploits far and wide."

The three men waited expectantly for Yuffie to sit so that they might follow suit. She kept them standing a moment longer than necessary to make them uncomfortable.

"What have you heard of me?" She smiled. The wait-staff entered the serving doors with trays of food which they laid out before Yuffie and her guests.

The severe, skinny one with the obvious eyebrow-twitch, sneered at her. His eyes angled in the extreme, and an urge shot through her to stuff bread down his throat until he gained some weight. His sharp cheekbones and the harsh angles of his eyes unsettled her. Instead of responding to his snotty facial expressions, she turned her attention to the other one, who had just licked his lips at the aromas wafting from the dishes placed before them. When he saw her attention on him, he paled.

"I am honored to be invited to the palace to dine with you, your highness," he said in a rush. Despite herself, despite her best instincts, Yuffie found she liked him. Something about him reminded her of a big, nervous kid. He had a round, boyish face, wide eyes, and a generous mouth. His hair curled just a bit around his ears, a hint of some foreign blood in his genealogy. In that case, this must be Saitou Goro. His family owned a very successful catering company, and his great grandfather had been from Mideel.

Yuffie curled her lips away from her teeth in a winning smile. "Let us eat."

After she had grasped her chopsticks, the other three followed her lead. No one ate before the highest ranking member at a table, and no one ate without the ranking member's permission.

During the meal, her conversation skills would be key She would need to coax out their personalities to divine how they would act and how she might handle the one she chose.

"The reason I have called you here today," Yuffie said, then dotted a napkin around her mouth, despite there being nothing to remove there, "is that I am in the market for a husband. You see, I am of marrying age—"

The one with the face like a knife, Shiga, made a small sound that could be mistaken either for a snort or a cough.

"Perhaps you have food stuck in your throat, Shiga?" Yuffie asked, batting her eyelashes just a tad. _Okay, so I'm long past marrying age for you stuffy bastards, but the _point _is, I needs me a husband so I can rock Wutai's world._

"Yes, your highness. It seems the rice does not agree with me."

Solemn, eyes wide, Yuffie said, "I will have my cook executed for dishonoring your palates in such a way."

Saitou and Uryuu looked alarmed, and Yuffie tried desperately not to laugh.

"I thank you graciously, your highness," Shiga said, with complete seriousness in his eyes and his small head-bow. He brightened a little, as if in inspiration. "It's good to see you taking your subjects well in hand." He sniffed. "People must know their place."

_People, uh-huh. Sure. Strike one, Shiga, you fucking sociopath._ "As I said, I am in need of a husband. When my father leaves this world and enters the arms of Da Chao, I and my chosen husband will take the throne of Wutai, as you all well know. I have called you here today because I have narrowed my choices down to the three of you."

At these words, Saitou rose from the table and prostrated himself before her in true Wuteng spirit. "I thank you, your majesty, for honoring me with the consideration of being your husband."

_Whoa there, buddy. A little _too_ subservient. Although... this could work in my favor._

She nodded to him, a miniscule movement. Any more exaggerated and she could be seen as bowing to her own subjects. "You may rise, Saitou. Please, tell me about your family business. I have heard from many a mouth the delectable nature of your food. I have heard you even serve Rufus Shinra himself."

"Oh, yes," he said, repositioning himself at the table and tucking a napkin into his collar. _Big, healthy boy, this one._ "I have met and shaken the hand of Rufus Shinra before. He has bestowed the highest compliments upon my family's catering service."

_Open to Shinra; this could be advantageous._

"He has recommended your services for several events I have planned," Yuffie lied, smooth as Leviathan's fishy hide.

This launched Saitou into a long ramble about his family business, to which Yuffie listened with a half-cocked ear. She observed the actions of Shiga and Uryuu while Saitou prattled, not certain she liked what she saw. Uryuu stared off into the distance with a thoughtful, faraway look on his long face, and Shiga picked at his unusually long—and grotesque—fingernails with the end of a chopstick. _Grossness._

"–and in the last year alone, we have served high-society parties not just in Wutai and Edge, but also in Mideel, Costa del Sol, and Junon. Word spreads fast these days on Gaia, it seems, your highness. By the way, this food is positively scrumptious. The Saitous could not have done it better themselves."

"Thank you, Saitou." Yuffie redirected her attention to Uryuu. The look on his face had snagged her attention. "Uryuu, I have been told of your extreme success in law."

"Yes, your highness, I have been a defense lawyer for many years," he said, his voice somewhat distant. He seemed uninterested in the whole affair—not impolite but also not connected to the events happening around him. Strange, that he would be disinterested in marrying the future ruler of Wutai. Yuffie wondered if maybe the older man had a girlfriend (or a boyfriend). Records indicated his status as unmarried, but he could be seeing someone.

"Do you enjoy your work, Uryuu?"

Shiga made that noise again. This time, Yuffie turned a frowning eye on him. "Does the food still not agree with you, Shiga?"

He cast an acidic gaze on Uryuu. "Lawyers do not agree with me, your highness." He sneered. Yuffie thought he had the perfect face for sneering.

Only fifteen minutes into the meal, and Yuffie already found herself tired of playing the nicey-nice game. She wondered if she were cut out for ruling the country. How did Rufus Shinra, or her father—her only real examples of rulers—conduct themselves? Did she have to act this way to get the job done?

The facade started cracking. She could feel it slipping from her, clinging like an oily skin. Time to do things her way.

"Seems like most stuff doesn't agree with you, Mr. Shiga," Yuffie said, and smiled a big, cheeky grin. The muscles in her face strained as she cranked the power. For his part, Shiga leaned back in his chair, his face wrenching like a Tonberry had just asked him on a date. "Oh, man, you look kinda sick. Want me to kill the cook's assistant too?"

An interesting shade of purple crawled up Shiga's face. "I beg your pardon, your highness. I—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know you didn't mean it, blah blah blah. The point about this whole thing is, I've been in the market for a new husband, like I said, and I wanted to test the three of you out, and well, you all failed. You, you, _and_ you," she said, pointing to each of their shocked and/or outraged faces in turn. "Sorry, Saitou, you actually seem like a really neat guy. I don't think I can ruin your life by making you emperor of this place. You keep on with your catering service, and maybe I'll hire you one day."

"But, your highness—" Uryuu spluttered, suddenly interested in the goings-on.

"Oh, now you're all attentive, eh? You daydream a little too much, Mr. Uryuu. I'm afraid that knocks you out of the running."

She waited, for one of them to protest, to show some gumption. Nothing happened. Further failure on their parts: their last chance, lost.

"And you," she said to Shiga, "you're just too bloodthirsty, mister. I can't have another war on my hands, and I can tell just by lookin' you'd like the power to pee in someone's rice. Get yourself to a spa or something. You look like you swallowed a hornet."

With one final flourish of her bell-like sleeves, Yuffie waved them away. "You're all dismissed. Boy, was _this_ boring."

She bowed to each of them, short and shallow and mocking, and then she dashed from the room with a train of guards hurrying after her. When she had finally eluded them all and found an empty room in her vast, dusty palace, she put her draped green back against the elaborate wall and slid to the floor with her head in her hands.

"Well, back to the drawing board."


	2. Chapter 2

Author Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter. If I didn't respond, it was not because I didn't appreciate your input!

And to all you folks who followed: remember, even a small review equals love. Once again, thanks to my ace betas licoriceallsorts and La Editor, who rock.

.

The phone rang while he was filling out paperwork.

"Rufus," he droned.

"It's Reeve."

"Good afternoon, Reeve." Rufus put down the pen and cracked his knuckles. "What do you need?"

"I have something to discuss with you. Something highly confidential."

Had Rufus not already known the matter which Reeve wanted to discuss, his interest would have sparked. However, unless someone had blown something up or someone had been assassinated in the past five minutes, Rufus felt certain he already knew. "Go on."

"I'll be in your office in five."

"By all means." With a _click_, Rufus shut his phone and continued scribbling. A little under three minutes later, having navigated his way to Rufus's office over two elevators and several different hall changes, Reeve arrived.

He entered, harried as usual.

"Have a seat," Rufus said, and gestured to the large, comfortable chair in front of his desk. Reeve sat, smoothing his hands over his pants and the front of his jacket. Over the years, Reeve had become less and less visibly anxious in Rufus's presence, until the small bodily clues and the vocal hesitations had disappeared completely. Rufus had not detected them for a long, long time. Now, though, he seemed to be reverting to old habits. _Seemed_ being the key word.

"What was it you wanted to discuss with me, Reeve?"

Reeve looked down at his hands, a good attempt. "Lord Godo Kisaragi is on his deathbed."

Rufus lifted his silvery eyebrows. "Oh? I had heard from my sources that he was ill, but I did not know it had progressed that far."

Reeve looked up sharply at the word "sources," but when Rufus only gifted him with a small smile in reply, he frowned.

"So Lord Godo is on his deathbed. Does this mean his young heir will be taking the throne in his place?"

Reeve released a frustrated sigh. "She has to marry first."

"Wuteng law must be holding her back."

"You know?"

"I studied Wuteng culture and law extensively after Shinra defeated them in the war." He shrugged. "In order to repair relations with them later, I knew I would need to be well-versed in their customs."

"Ah." Reeve nodded once. He stared at his hands, to all appearances organizing his thoughts.

"And how did you come by this information?" Rufus prompted after a moment.

"Yuffie called me. As you know, she works a lot with the WRO. We're close friends. When she told me she needed to marry someone of Wuteng descent in order to keep her country, I offered myself."

"You are an honorable man," Rufus said, and Reeve could not be certain of Rufus's tone, which was, perhaps, a hint of condescension disguised as sincerity. Reeve could never read the President by his facial expressions, but years of studying the younger man's actions had given him some insight into the workings of his mind.

"Thank you," Reeve finally said. He suppressed the natural urge to narrow his eyes, as dealings with Rufus were a careful dance. "However, I can't marry Yuffie. I am Wuteng through my mother's side of the family. Wutai is patriarchal by law, as you apparently well know. Vincent Valentine also seemed like an option, but I discovered we're faced with the same problem when I researched his family tree."

"This is unfortunate. It would have been convenient for Princess Kisaragi if she had found someone close to her, someone trustworthy to marry." Rufus tapped a finger on his lips, making an admirable attempt to appear genuinely concerned. "But why are you telling me this?"

"Because I have found someone eligible to be Yuffie's co-ruler."

Rufus's eyes gleamed. He had an inkling of where Reeve was going with this. At his prompting gesture, Reeve continued. "I discovered that Tseng is of Wuteng descent on both his mother's and his father's side."

.

"You can't be _serious_, Yuffie!" Tifa exclaimed when she finally parsed the Wuteng characters on the fraying scroll. "Does this say what I think it says, and if it does, what's _wrong_ with you?" She felt for Yuffie, she really did, but disbelief and even a little bit of anger stiffened her.

"I dunno, Tifa. I'm starting to think it could be a good idea. Plus, he's royalty. That's gonna make things a lot easier." Instead of focusing on Tifa, Yuffie dug into her food with relish. "Less paperwork, less people to please." A bit of reddish sauce dripped down Yuffie's chin, but she ignored it and went on sucking down her meal.

"He's… royalty?" Tifa questioned, eyebrows arched in surprise.

"Bastard royalty, if you wanna get technical."

Tifa frowned. "But what does that mean?"

"Means he's kind of royalty, but he's, like, the illegitimate bastard grandchild of some daddy who went outside of marriage."

"Wait, how would you even know that?"

"Oh, Wutai keeps records of bastard children." Yuffie grinned through a mouthful of rice. Tifa had the urge to smack her. _Take something seriously, for once,_ she mentally pleaded. But she knew, despite appearances, that Yuffie wanted to handle this with the utmost care. Flippancy had become second nature for the ninja, even more so now in the face of her father's wasting death. "Besides that, you ever wonder what that mark on his forehead's all about? Symbol of a bastard child."

"Why?"

"Old tradition. If the legitimate kiddies die, we gotta know who the cousin of so-and-so who begot so-and-so who is actually of royal and commoner blood is so they can rule."

Tifa was really starting to get the hang of chopsticks after five days in Wutai. "But Yuffie, he's a _Turk_," she said with slight disgust, mentally chastising herself. The Turks had done a lot for them since Meteor, straddling the line between what Tifa considered ethically appropriate and morally reprehensible.

"An ex-Turk," Yuffie said, the pitch of her voice cranking up a notch in defense. "They don't... do that... anymore." She didn't sound convinced, her eyes unfocused. Then she shrugged and turned back to her plump, steamy dumplings.

"Please tell me you don't actually _believe_ that they're not doing the whole Turk thing these days." Knowing the rudeness of the gesture, Tifa stabbed her chopsticks toward Yuffie anyway.

"I know, I know," Yuffie sighed. "But I'm warming up to the idea."

Tifa narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms.

"Okay, maybe not 'warming up,' but the more I think about it, the more promising it seems."

"Have you forgotten how he treated Aeris?"

"No," she said, suddenly shame-faced—an interesting dynamic with her cheeks puffed like a chipmunk's. "I didn't forget that."

Yuffie hadn't been around for Tseng kidnapping and slapping Aeris, but Tifa told her about it after seeing him at death's door in the Temple of the Ancients. Yuffie had expressed some concern for the man afterward, and Tifa delivered the story to correct any notions of sympathy.

Tseng might not have been directly responsible for Aeris' death, but he was part of the Shinra—and Tifa knew his betrayal hurt Aeris deeply. Even as an oblivious sixteen-year-old, Yuffie hadn't failed to notice each time they encountered Tseng and fended him off on their journey, Aeris had been somewhat pensive and reserved for the entire day following. The only time she asked in her own blunt way what was up with that guy, Tifa took her aside and explained that they were not to bring up Tseng to Aeris again.

Now, he served as another reminder of the woman AVALANCHE had lost and mourned. With the two remaining female members staring at each other across the table, Tifa felt the missing point of their triangle sharply.

Tifa studied her younger friend and wondered how Aeris might feel about the situation. As she had for many years when it came time to make an important decision, she put herself in the flower girl's considerable shoes. She knew she could never live up to Aeris' legacy and had stopped beating herself up for it long ago. She also knew that if her friend saw Yuffie's genuine contrition and pain over the decision now, she would forgive her.

After a long, stiff pause, Tifa decided to change the subject for Yuffie's sake. "Isn't he considered a huge traitor to your country?"

"Ah, yeah, about that. I think it could be a good political move. You know, mending old bridges and—"

"There are bridges to mend with Shinra? I mean, they're not ashes in the river by now? And besides that, how _old_ is he, Yuffie? He must be twice your age!"

Yuffie swallowed loudly. Tifa winced. "Actually," she said, "it's fairly common for younger women to marry older men, especially when it comes to royal matrimony. And maybe this way, he'll be really decrepit and I won't have to worry about him trying to sweep me off my feet. If he tries, he'll break a hip."

Tifa sighed the loudest, most-lung-straining sigh she thought she had ever sighed. "I can't tell you what to do, but _please_ think hard about this, okay? How in the heck are you gonna go about asking him? Just like, 'Oh, yeah, Tseng, by the way, how would you feel about becoming the Emperor of the country you betrayed?' C'mon, Yuff."

"Oh, Reeve's handling it," she said, finally, _finally_ wiping the sauce off her face.

"Handling it?"

"Rufus will be hearing from him right about now."

.

"Why are you asking me about this, Reeve? The decision is, ultimately, Tseng's."

"I know that," Reeve said, frowning. So he wanted to play the game this way, did he? Reeve didn't like it when Rufus played dumb.

"Then you don't need my permission. I'm not his father."

"No, but I need your help."

"How so?"

"Tseng won't do it unless you ask him."

"Why do you say that?"

Reeve's eyes glinted like a cat's. "Everyone knows his true loyalties are to you, Rufus."

"So then find someone else."

Reeve straightened his tie and said matter-of-factly, "You know it's not that simple. I want Yuffie with someone relatively safe, someone who's not going to interfere in her running the country, who's going to treat her like a human being. Practices in Wutai aren't exactly modern when it comes to women. If she marries some fallen son of royalty she doesn't know, for all we know he could take over the country and use her as nothing more than a broodmare."

Rufus raised his eyebrows at Reeve's fervor. He knew the head of the WRO cared very much for the Princess of Wutai. This was important to Reeve. He would not have come to Rufus and put himself in such a subordinate position otherwise.

"So she needs someone to use as a figurehead."

After a short pause, Reeve cleared his throat and said, "Yes."

"What makes you think Tseng will be controlled in this way? What makes you think he won't do the same as 'some fallen son of royalty'?"

"You know him better than I do, Rufus. Would he do the same?"

Rufus shook his head. "No. I don't know why you think he can be trusted, though."

"I don't. But I do trust Yuffie. She's competent, and I think he's better than the unknown."

Rufus smiled his slow shark grin. Reeve did not retreat. He merely stared back with half-lidded eyes, accustomed to Rufus's tricks.

"I'll ask him, Reeve. I can't make any guarantees. As I said, it is ultimately his decision."

Reeve nodded and rose from his chair. "Keep me updated."

Rufus hummed in agreement and picked up his pen, a clear dismissal. The solid oak door closed with a _snick_ behind Reeve, and Rufus picked up the phone with a little more speed than usual. He punched the number seven and the star key and ordered his pretty, vapid secretary to patch him through to Tseng.

He had been waiting for something like this, an opportunity like this, since beginning the World Regenesis Poject, and here it was, fallen into his lap like the winning lottery ticket to a starving man.

.

"Yuffie speaking."

"Princess Kisaragi_._" Rufus Shinra's voice smoothed over her ears, velvety even through her cell phone's paltry speakers.

"Rufus," Yuffie said, voice cheerful but guarded. She knew what this call was about, she just didn't know if she'd like it. At the ex-president's name, Tifa's focus zeroed in on Yuffie.

"I understand you are in the market for a husband_._"

"Yes."

"I understand you're interested in one of my subordinates for your potential co-ruler."

"Yes." She wished he would cut to the chase. Her nails really couldn't take much more nervous abuse.

"Luckily for you, I have availed him of your situation, and he hasn't refused."

"But he hasn't accepted, either."

"Tseng would like to meet with you."

"When?"

"As soon as possible."

"Is tomorrow at three soon enough for him?"

"I'm sure that will be fine. Tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow."

_Click_.

.

Yuffie drummed her nails on the conference table. This room, on the same wing of the palace as the entrance hall and the dining room, had been furnished for business. The meeting important people and negotiation type of business, in point of fact. A long, dark wood table occupied the center of the room, surrounded by eleven high-backed chairs. Yuffie's chair was slightly bigger than all the rest and had been positioned at the head of the table—subtle.

Lush embroidered curtains done in dark greens shaded the tall windows and cast the light in slightly shadowed tones.

The _rat-tat-tat-tat _noise of her tapping the table seemed muffled, as the ragged ends of her nails didn't quite connect with the varnished wood. She was early, and she expected Rufus Shinra to arrive exactly on time, even if he had to travel by airship. Sure enough, at 2:59, a gaggle of guards and Turks alike escorted Rufus in.

She rose and nodded. Rufus, for his part, actually gave her a short, respectful bow. His mocking smile took a lot of the meaning out of it, however. Reno grinned wolfishly at her, and she rolled her eyes at him. Rude nodded. Her guards filled the space behind her, ready to jump to her aid at any sign of trouble.

The man of the hour stepped in last. The back guard closed the door behind them all. The sound of it cranked Yuffie's insides like a nature-made anxiety machine.

Yuffie suddenly could not recall what she had expected when she looked upon his face in person, but she knew that he defied her previous imaginings. She had seen Tseng once, in the Temple of the Ancients long ago, dragging himself away from death's door by his splintered fingernails. Now he looked completely different. He had healed, the only outward evidence of his ordeals being a small silvery scar beginning at the top of his forehead and trailing into his hairline.

His eyes had a slight slant, an almond shape, but seemed completely black, flat—neither deep nor shallow, just opaque. Her gaze lingered on his bindi, then traced over his mouth, down his neck, across his entire imposing physique. He seemed... impenetrable. Her study took place for just a second before she redirected her mind to the task at hand.

The Single White Rose of Wutai stared across the endless chasm between herself and her country's bitterest defeat. Faced with this, she cleared her throat. "Hey, Rufus. Thanks for coming. And… thank you for coming, Tseng." She looked into his impassive eyes for the first time since he had entered. He only nodded.

Yuffie sat at the elaborate conference table, then gestured that they do so as well. Rufus chose a chair, but his Turks remained standing against the back wall, near the door. Hidden under the table, Yuffie's right foot tapped. This movement was the only outward sign of her nerves.

"Welcome to Wutai," she said into the silence. _Tough crowd._

Rufus replied with a charming smile. "Your highness, thank you for having us in your beautiful home."

Yuffie nodded. "It's my pleasure, Rufus." A beat. "Let's get down to business, then."

She had no doubt Rufus or, more likely, one of the Turks, had been wired in order to tape this conversation for later perusal. If she played her cards right, it wouldn't matter. He'd be on her side. Besides, she knew a digital recorder of her own was taped to the underside of the table.

"What I am about to reveal to you is highly sensitive information. I must have your secrecy in this matter."

"You have my word, Miss Kisaragi."

A lifted eyebrow was her only reply. He smirked again. "My dad's dying, Rufus."

No surprise flowered on his face. No eyelashes batted. "How unfortunate. Is there nothing that can be done for him?"

"We have our highest medical staff on the job. It doesn't look good. As his only heir, the throne would logically be left to me." Yuffie tried, with all her might, not to stare openly at Tseng in order to gauge all his reactions to her words.

"Logically."

"But I must be married to a man of at least half Wuteng descent in order to legally possess the throne."

"Oh?" Rufus's eyebrows rose. "Have you spoken to Reeve? His mother was Wuteng."

Yuffie was already tired of playing this game. "All right, Rufus, let's cut the shit. I know you already know all this."

"I have been privy to some of this information, yes." She could swear she saw Reno's shoulders twitch before Rude slapped a hand on his partner's back. The redhead coughed.

"You already know everything. Figures Reeve can't keep his goddamn mouth shut."

"If I may, your highness, he _was_ speaking on your behalf."

"Yeah, yeah. The man's got a heart of gold. Too bad he didn't get it from a Wuteng daddy, 'cause it doesn't do _me_ any good." Reno's face would match his hair if he tried to suppress his laughter any harder.

"He would make quite the political ally."

"Rufus."

"Yes?"

"Why am I talking to you and not Tseng?" Yuffie leaned forward onto her elbows, placed her head into her hands. Rufus's guards shifted at the movement. She beamed at them.

Rufus' mouth quirked in amusement. "That is a very good question, Princess. Tseng?"

He stepped forward, his dress shoes clicking a little on the marble floor. He had yet to react to any of this. Yuffie thought Rufus was tough to read, but she had a feeling Tseng would be even worse. "President, sir." His voice was rich but emotionless.

Yuffie settled her gaze on him, thoughtful. "You interested in ruling a country?"

"No." His sharp eyes did not waver from her face, and her foot finally stilled. She tried not to squirm, and to her relief, succeeded.

"Not even a little?"

"No."

"Not even an eensy weensy bit?"

"Not in the least." He had arched an eyebrow by this point.

"Good. Because you won't be. You'll be a figurehead while I change things up around here. You will, for the most part, do as you please while I take care of business."

"For the most part?" His other eyebrow joined the first.

"Of course you can't go streaking through the streets with your pants on your head shouting about how your grandfather was a silly chocobo, but most other things should be fine. Gotta keep up appearances."

This: the ultimate test. Could he withstand her nonsequitors?

He didn't even nod. He just stared at her.

"You can make a note about that being off-limits." Not even a snicker. Holy crap. A real stiff. He blinked quickly. Yuffie could almost describe his _blinks_ as efficient.

"When would the wedding be?"

"Three days from the day you agree."

"Why did you choose me?"

"Because."

Silence. She stared at her stubby fingernails, sighed. She wished he would sit. She was sitting. Rufus was even sitting. Why couldn't they all just _sit?_

"Because you're better than the alternative. Because you have to be worth something if you've worked for Rufus this long. Because I need a quick mind, and you've got one."

He pinned her with his eyes and held her there for a long, tense moment. She felt skinned on the spot, as if he were searching through her innards for even the slightest grain of falsity.

"There's something else," he finally said.

She tensed even further. Well, time to get it over with—the secret, revealed finally. So far, the list of people who knew was limited to the Mighty Gods and the physician who had discovered it.

"There is," she confirmed. "I'm going to tell you, up front, before you get into something even more dangerous than you thought." She took a deep, steadying breath and braced her hands on her knees underneath the table. The words came up like acid burning her throat. "My father isn't just sick. He's experiencing the effects of a slow-acting poison."

The room was silent, like everyone was holding their breath at the same time. After a short pause which felt like an eternity, she continued. "We have no idea who's responsible, and there is no known antidote. I want you to know," she said, looking Tseng in the eyes once more, instead of somewhere past his shoulder, "that I intend to find the person who did this to my father, and if you marry me, your help in discovering the perpetrator would be invaluable."

In spite of anything she might have expected, Tseng simply said, "Allow me one night to consider your offer."

She almost gaped but managed to restrain herself at the last minute. She took another steadying breath and said, "You will stay in the palace as my guests." She stood and bowed, keeping eye contact the whole way down. "Wutai is honored to have you."

"When'd you get so fancy, Princess?" Reno grinned, and her guards shifted. He had a reputation for being the rowdy, unpredictable one, and her Wuteng guards didn't take well to Shinra. Definite unease as soon as he spoke. The corners of his mouth curled at their uncomfortable movements.

She gave him a level look, and his smile faded. "Let me show you to your rooms."

.

Yuffie had no illusions that the Shinra Brigade were sitting quietly in their separate rooms playing tiddlywinks and turning in for an early night. She needed a drink, though, and her certainty that the ex-Turks were snooping around did not dissuade her from a trek to the liquor room. Finding Reno, Rude, and Elena already there did not inspire a bit of surprise in her.

"Don't mind me, just gonna go drink myself quietly to sleep."

No guards hovered at the door or the edges of the room. Usually, she only needed to dismiss them, but they were acting kooky with former Shinra personnel in the palace. She had had to evade them by navigating the air vents (something she had gotten good at around age seven). Half of her wanted to know how the Terrible Trio had escaped the guards' paranoia, and another half didn't want to bother.

She gravitated to her favorite brand of wine from Kalm and poured a generous glass. "Hey," Reno said.

She cocked an ear toward him. "Yeah?"

"You sure about this?"

Surprised, she hid her expression as she sipped. "I don't exactly have a choice anymore."

"So the old man's done for? Hey!" Reno shoved Elena in the shoulder, retaliating to her elbow in his back.

Yuffie stared at the ceiling, swirled her wine. She swallowed a few times, blinked, looked sideways at him. "We're doing everything we can. He's not getting better."

Elena, blue eyes crinkled with concern, asked, "How long?"

"A few days? A week, maybe?"

"So you gotta get married right away, then." Reno browsed through her scotches, eyes shrewd. "This a good brand?"

"Nope, that's shit. Do you like scotch? Try McCutcheon."

He pulled the bottle and poured a glass like he was right at home. "Didn't know you were a drinker."

"Your dad dying can do that to you."

He sipped, and Yuffie saw what she thought was a flash of genuine bliss on Reno's face. "Yeah."

Elena stepped in front of Reno, closer to Yuffie, her hand skimming the myriad bottles in the shelves. The low light reflected "Yuffie, Tseng is a good man."

Reno snorted, and Rude looked at her. Yuffie could only tell the latter by the way Rude's head turned a fraction to the right. The light gleamed off his skull, and she almost laughed. More wine was in order.

Elena scowled at them. "Stop it. He is."

"Sure he is. By our standards." Reno poured another dram.

Elena twirled a lock of hair around her index finger. She had a small mole on the left side her throat, and Yuffie found herself fixated on it. "I don't think her standards are too far from ours."

Rude hummed. "Be careful, Laney." Yuffie jumped, trying to recall when she'd last heard Rude speak. A long time ago.

"Hush. I'm trying to help them both."

This conversation had shifted from surprising to surreal.

Elena was so close she was almost in Yuffie's face at this point. "Listen to me. Tseng is a good man. He's loyal, and when you've earned his trust, he'll do a lot for you." She paused for a moment, face reddening. "Almost anything."

Reno snickered, and then Yuffie understood. Elena loved Tseng. She wondered if Tseng loved Elena. If he did, why would he even consider marrying her?

"Elena, I'm sor—"

She held up a hand. "Don't. Tseng and I didn't work out. Just listen."

Yuffie nodded. Elena's throat convulsed with a hard swallow. Yuffie realized how valuable this conversation was, this peek into the workings of four ex-Turks, Rufus's right hand even after the destruction of his energy empire.

"Tseng will take care of you."

"This is a lot of talk about something that might not even happen."

In response, Elena stared hard into Yuffie's eyes, searching. "Tseng _will_ take care of you. If he agrees." She leaned, her mouth almost brushing Yuffie's earlobe. "But you have to take care of Tseng. Or I'll hurt you. Okay?"

Yuffie wasn't sure if Reno and Rude had heard the threat. Rude had his eyes on a point behind her, and the redhead seemed to be smiling at no one in particular. She felt a bubble of dread at his curled lips and at Elena's squeeze on her shoulder.

"If you crazy assholes will excuse me, I'm gonna go to bed."

She turned, took a few steps, then turned again when Reno called her name.

"You forgot your wine bottle."

He tossed her the Kalmish wine, and she grinned. "Thanks, Turkey. I'll snuggle it all night."

His laugh followed her down the hall.


	3. Chapter 3

At noon the next day, a guard called Yuffie away from her meal and back to the conference room, which had been built on the wing of small offices. She hated this room—in the years closely following the Wutai-Shinra War, it had been remodeled in the Eastern style. Straight-backed chairs flanked a glossy table. Only hints of Wutai remained—the mats with the embroidery of cranes which spanned the length of the table; a vase of delicate white flowers. The mixture made her uneasy, at a disadvantage in her home.

Tseng awaited her arrival in the conference room. He stood behind his chair, and she gave him permission to sit with a wave of her hand. "Let's discuss terms," he said.

Yuffie's fingers clenched her ceremonial kimono. After only two days of wearing the formal garments, her nerves were chafed. She hoped eventually she would be able to discard the formal attire as she shook up tradition—_if_ red tape and general resistance didn't stand in her way. Wutai could be a country full of mules, so stubborn that it had been shackled in its ways since the Shinra War.

Discussing terms meant a possible yes. "Go for it." She tried to sound confident, tried to sound Yuffie-in-control. She didn't like that she was unsure if she succeeded. Something about him—the combination of grace and indifference, perhaps—put her off-kilter.

"I will have privacy."

"You will have your own office, but for the sake of appearances, you have to share the master bedroom with me."

He paused, considering, then nodded. A strand of inky hair fell over his shoulder, blending to invisibility against the fabric there. "I will be given freedom."

"Define 'freedom.'" Yuffie's stomach would not settle down. Her gaze shifted from his eyes to a point behind him, and she knew she was not hiding her nerves well.

"Free time to pursue my own interests."

"Like… hobbies?" She tried to imagine Tseng knitting, and the only picture she got involved a red silk robe, a cravat, and a pipe. Give or take a white fluffy cat.

He nodded, absolutely serious, unaware of her inappropriate thoughts. She congratulated herself on her control. Three months ago, she would have laughed. Now her lips didn't even twitch.

Yuffie didn't know if she liked the change.

"Granted. Within reason."

"Define 'reason,'" he fired back.

"I'll be blunt." As if she were ever anything else. "Wutai's in bad shape, and we need to make some major changes around here. That means lots of legal stuff—stuff I need you cooperating and present for."

Tseng nodded. She wished she could read him better. Over the years, she had even accustomed herself to the nuances of Vincent's closed face, but Tseng was like a book rubber-cemented shut with all the words scribbled out.

"I must be allowed to continue communication with the Turks." She noted he didn't attempt to hide that the organization was still operational.

"You can't run missions," she said, flat. "I know it's your thing and you got a sweet gig with the WRO, but you have to stay in the country. Your work has to appear to be about Wutai."

She had no doubt he'd picked up the "appear" in that sentence. His face seemed even blanker somehow. She noticed, as he nodded, that he had beautiful hair—almost blue it was so black. Idly, Yuffie wished they could trade. A picture of Tseng with her boy-cut bob drifted over her mind's eye. Not okay.

"You wish that I do not contact them?"

"No, I know that's not good for you. You can still communicate with them, but you can't be with them physically."

He nodded. "That will be satisfactory."

"Oh, and just so we get this straight in advance, this is going to be a chaste marriage. People want me to have lots of little black-haired babies for the good of the kingdom, but _no way_ is that happening. You got me?" She hid her embarrassment under her bluster.

Tseng's upper lip curled, and she wanted to sink into the floor. Or strangle him. "I am sure, your highness, in this case, you will encounter no resistance from me."

She almost swallowed her own tongue trying to hide her anger. "We won't be married for long. I hope a year at most. Enough for me to change the laws about female heirs, then kick your ass to the curb with a sizable portion of what's left of our treasury."

"So I will be compensated."

"Of course," Yuffie said with no small amount of forced cheer. "I can't leave the co-savior of my failing country starving in the streets for all his trouble, now can I?"

"Is there anything else?"

This was it. She hoped he wouldn't decline at hearing the final stipulation. "Here's the thing. I'm not just buying out your services," she said, approaching with caution, "I'm buying out your loyalty as well. While we're married, you report to me. When this marriage terminates and you're free to go, you may work for whomever you please. But you will never reveal any information you gathered about Wutai during the time of your service."

Tseng deliberated for a moment, but she thought he must have already considered this possibility. She had made it clear this would be a marriage in name only, a business endeavor. He would have thought about this over the previous night. It would be difficult knowing she could not quite trust him, but he was her best choice for freedom and, at the same time, protection.

"You may set the date."

She couldn't believe her ears. "Three days from now. It needs to be immediate."

"I understand."

"I'll arrange for people to help you move your stuff into our rooms and your new office." The words left her tongue with a mechanical ring. She needed to get away. "Is that good?"

"That's fine."

"I'm going to publicly announce our engagement to Wutai tomorrow. It would look good if you had a few nicey-nice things to say to all the itchy people listening. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to rest." She rose, then stopped. "Oh, and one more thing. I'm going to need to triple the security on you when I make the public announcement. People are bound to want you dead."

His mouth twisted in what she thought might be a rare smile. "I'm well used to the imminent threat of death, my lady."

She suddenly couldn't think of a way to end this conversation, so she settled for an inadequate, "All right then."

Tseng handled the conundrum for her. "If you will excuse me, I have business to attend to. As I'm sure you do as well. Good day, my lady."

Yuffie managed to hold herself together until she called Tifa. Her fingers scrabbled on the number pad as she dialed. Air clawed its way in and out of her throat. After three rings, Tifa picked up.

"Tifa?"

"Yuffie, what's wrong?" Tifa could sense it right off.

"He said yes."

"Oh, Yuffie."

"Where are you?"

"The gardens. I can be in your room in five minutes."

"No. I'll be in the Pagoda."

"I'll find you."

Yuffie stripped down and changed into a training outfit—soft loose-fitting pants and a belted shirt. The layers of her kimono decorated the floor. She set off at a light, jaunty pace, trying not to break into a run.

_What's his game? What does he want? It can't be the money. Something about him tells me it's not. The intel? Who's he doing this for: Rufus or himself? He __must want something__. _

When she made to descend the front stairs, her guards called after her, but she held her hand up and dismissed them. When she had reached the bottom of the stairs and was sure no one was around to see, she dug in her heels and ran. Some energy roared through her, begging for release.

The voice was familiar: her people's patron god, confused at her distress. Confusion, for Leviathan, translated to anger. And Yuffie's spirit energy surged in response. He was growing stronger, and he responded more readily to her emotions and thoughts. Yuffie subdued her questions and surrendered to the feeling of power now, though.

Shake stood outlined in the doorway to the Pagoda. By the look on his face, she knew he sensed the god using her as a conduit. He seemed an odd mixture of concern and anger. Before she could open her mouth, though, he aimed a hard blow for her abdomen. It connected, and she fell with the wind knocked out of her.

"It didn't hurt that bad. Now get up," he ordered.

With a cry, she lunged and pushed him through the door, into the ground floor which he and Gorki used to teach martial arts to young students, and more recently, the palace guards. Since Godo had fallen to foul play, Yuffie had ordered tighter, better-trained security. It seemed she had interrupted Shake teaching a group of them. They murmured excitedly as Shake dislodged her grip and put some space between himself and her.

Sometimes it's more fun to throw a right hook or a windmill kick than it is to adhere to martial arts teaching, so Yuffie resorted to the barroom brawl moves she'd picked up traveling the world. Being a Princess amongst drunk foreigners inevitably resulted in someone pinching her in inappropriate places. She'd gotten in a lot of fights, needless to say.

When she tried to smash Shake's scowling mouth with a well-aimed fist, he grabbed her wrist. In the miniscule moment before she made her next move, he twisted her arm and threw her to the floor. He kicked her in the side for good measure.

"You're an idiot," he growled.

She hacked, spat onto the mats. "I know, but why do you say so now?"

Dark eyes narrowed, he raised his bare foot above her head and hovered there, ready to crush her. This game of cat and mouse was familiar to her; no matter how angry Shake was, he would never injure her seriously. He trusted her enough to move if the game became too dangerous. Nevertheless, she knew the extent of his hurt feelings by the gesture alone.

"Why didn't you come to me, Yuffie?"

She rolled out from under his feet and came to her knees. He tensed in anticipation of her next move, but Yuffie shocked him by prostrating herself before him.

"Shake."

"Get up." His voice strained. "Stop doing that."

She crawled toward his bare feet. "Shake, I'm so sorry."

"_Get up_." She watched his hands begin to tremble from her crouched position. When the strings of his body seemed about to snap, she rolled to the side, sprang into a standing position, and speared him in the stomach head-first.

They went down in a blur of limbs, and he clawed for her hair. She grabbed his hands and pinned them to the mat. At twenty years old, Shake was a far cry from the scrawny boy she'd grown up with. He had always been faster than her—she suspected he always would be no matter how she tried to best him, but she was the daughter of the Fifth Mighty God, and she surpassed him in cunning.

She straddled his waist. She couldn't escape complications anymore, it seemed. "Now are you gonna fight me right, or are you gonna wait 'till I'm down and smack the shit out of me again?"

"Get off me. I'm going to kick your ass like I used to."

"Shake, you know it wouldn't work anyway. It's against the law."

"I could step down. Someone else would take my place, and I would be the husband you need."

Sensing the conversation going nowhere, she rolled off him, releasing his arms and moving aside quickly. When he was free, he rose and began to circle her. She prowled in the opposite direction, panther-like.

"Wutai needs you where you are. The Five Mighty Gods are all this goddamn country has left."

"You need a husband you can trust, and that's me. You know me. You know everything about me, almost more than anyone else."

"I can't." A hand slashed toward her face, and she caught it, then aimed for his stomach with her free fist. His right arm blocked, and he tried to kick her feet out from under her. He caught both feet aimed for his unguarded middle, so she twisted and planted her hands on the mat. It took a rush of strength, but she tore her legs free of his hands. Her ankles burned where his grip had rubbed off the skin.

She didn't want or know how to explain to him how being Emperor would break him. He had illusions of love, even children, fueling his anger toward her. But the rolls of red tape, the tedium of bureaucracy, and an expectation of feelings where there would be none would douse the light in him. Shake didn't want to understand, so she wouldn't try to explain. For now, they needed a return to their childhood. For now, she would thoroughly whoop his butt and figure out their problems later.

Besides that, Leviathan still raged within her. The primal surge of the god's emotions told her to hit and be hit. She laughed aloud when she realized she sounded like an abuse victim. "Hit me, Shake. Try it."

He tried. He succeeded. Blood spurted from her nose, pattered on the mats around them. Leviathan roared. _Hit back, hit back, hit back,_ every particle of her being sang.

She backflipped, cartwheeled, rolled, jabbed for his knees. He boxed her ears, and she pushed through the burst of color behind her eyes to grab his legs and flip him onto his back. He "oof"ed as the air escaped his lungs, kicking toward her face. She scrambled out of the way, nose still pouring blood, and chopped for his abdomen. But Shake was already gone, which she should have predicted. It was the only way to get a leg up on Shake. His opponent had to be able to predict his move sets and wait for a mistake. He just dodged everything otherwise, too fast to follow.

"Tell me why you can't," he snarled.

"Because, Shake, I just can't."

"I don't understand." His voice cracked. "I can help you. I can help you find _them_." Them. Whoever had poisoned her father.

"I don't know if I can explain it to you." _I don't know if I can ruin your life. Not like Tseng. I don't know him. I know you. I can't do that to you._

He yelled then, pure frustration, and charged her. Before she could process his attack, distracted as she was by his furious scream, he grabbed her by the fabric of her shirt and pulled her flush against his body. Through the blood on her face, he kissed her, his teeth catching and tearing her bottom lip.

She shoved him, then punched his head with the side of her fist. He fell. Yuffie nudged him with one toe, and when he didn't move, she stuck out her tongue. "Still can't beat me, Shake. Loser."

Then a sound rushed in her ears. She thought it might be a river, water closing over her head, and she surrendered to the deep.

"Yuffie, I really wish you would wake up."

"Tifa? Oh, uck, I need some water."

A glass bumped against her knuckles, and she opened her eyes and her hand, grateful. Her friend's worried face hovered over her, and she sat up and gulped the water down in about five seconds. Tifa stared, eyes wide.

Yuffie shrugged. "I guess I just got a little worked up."

"What happened back there anyway? That was Shake? The guards told me you and him were going at it pretty good."

Even confronted by her best friend, Yuffie just could not feel secure in revealing ancient, closely-guarded Wuteng secrets. She felt years of being training kick in. Keep our secrets, Yuffie, as your father before you, and his father before him. Keep our secrets for Wutai.

Yuffie scratched her head and leaned back into the pile of pillows. She was in her bedroom, and two guards stood posted at her door. They looked as though they weren't listening, but she knew better. Word got around fast in the palace for a reason. "I think... I need to talk to my dad."

"Do you think that will help?" Tifa was obviously baffled, unable to follow the trail of Yuffie's thoughts throughout their conversation.

"I'll have to see if I can catch Dad aware enough to cough some advice up." She paled. "That's funny. Cough up."

"Yuffie," Tifa sighed. "You don't have to joke about everything, you know. Some things can be serious."

"It's the only way I don't explode," she admitted, letting her eyes slip closed.

"What does exploding Yuffie do?"

"Gets all over the walls."

"Sounds like the usual," Tifa said with a conspiratorial wink.

Despite how shit everything was, Yuffie laughed.

"I've been sort of afraid to ask," Tifa said in a more serious tone. "How _is_ your dad doing?"

Yuffie's eyes flitted to the far wall, where an old professional photograph displayed her father, her mother, and a chubby, toddler version of herself standing perfectly posed. They didn't look happy—formal family portraits, no matter the socioeconomic standing, meant everyone dressed in their best-pressed antique robes and tried to get the perfect air of power, grace. By the time the right shot had been captured, people were often cranky and tired.

The giveaway with this picture was Godo's hand resting on the small of Lady Kisaragi's back and the way her face angled toward Yuffie's even as her eyes focused on the camera. Taken a couple years before Lady Kisaragi's death, these details spoke of a closeness that Yuffie and her father had attempted and often failed to achieve.

She swallowed. "Not well."

"So have they figured out…?"

_Tell her. Now is as good a time as any_, the little voice in the back of her mind cajoled. "Tifa," she whispered, "my dad… he's not just sick. Someone poisoned him."

Shock, then anger slid over Tifa's face. "Who? Who did this?"

She looked at her hands, where she twisted the green sheet between each fist. "I don't know. Whoever it was, they hid their tracks well. Trust me, we've tried finding them."

"And there's no way to help your father?" Tifa's voice shook with a dangerous fury Yuffie had only heard a handful of times. Mother-figure with saint-like patience she may be, but Tifa was legendary for a reason. She, like each member of AVALANCHE, had some jagged edges.

"If there was a way to help my dad, we would've done it by now." Yuffie, for the moment, could summon no anger. A bone-deep exhaustion eclipsed any emotion she might have felt.

"Anything I can do to help you, tell me." Her hands shook, curled into tight fists in her lap, pseudo demure.

"Trust me, after today… you'd be the first person I'd go to."

"I gather Shake didn't take the news well," she said, sensing Yuffie's shift in thought.

Yuffie shook her head. Her eyes felt muzzy. When she reached up to scratch her face, dried blood flaked off on her fingertips. "No. Shake's always had a thing for me. I don't know why. He doesn't really know me anymore. I haven't been around enough."

Tifa's eyes lowered. "That's sad."

"I feel for him, but… Teef, I can't ruin his life like this."

"But you can ruin Tseng's?"

With a groan, Yuffie flopped over in her bed. At least now she didn't have to look into Tifa's big beautiful eyes and feel like a terrible person. "Shake's not cut out for the job of being my husband."

"You don't think he can handle you?"

"He can't handle helping me fix Wutai. This place is screwed if it goes on like this for much longer. The economy's wrecked, cheap tourism is our only form of income, and our exports are way lower than our imports. It's time someone did something about it, and Shake doesn't know how. In fact, Shake might even try to hold me back. He's as stuck in the old ways as any other home-grown Wuteng boy."

"There's no guarantee Tseng's any better for the job than Shake."

Yuffie wanted to scream into her pillows in frustration. _I know! But it's not like I have much _choice_, Tifa. _Finally, she settled for shrugging.

Tifa didn't reply right away, and when Yuffie finally looked back, her friend's thoughtful gaze settled on her face. "I need a fresh mind, someone who won't hold me back. I need someone who doesn't feel hostility at all the outside world after the War of Bitterest Defeat."

Tifa leaned back a little, eyebrows high. "That… that's what Wutai calls it?"

Yuffie let out a humorless laugh. "See what I'm dealing with here?"

She felt the shift before Tifa changed the subject. "Have you… have you thought about…"

To Yuffie's horror, a flush crawled up Tifa's neck. Tifa was no squeamish maiden; she'd seen more blood and guts than most women. Yuffie didn't know where this was going, but she already didn't like it.

"About?"

"Consummation."

She looked away, scratched behind her left ear, then looked back. "Uh, yeah. I have. It's kind of a big deal." When Yuffie rose from the bed to head for the connected bathrooms, Tifa followed.

"What do you mean?"

"Traditionally, on the first wedding night, the head maid of the household will retrieve the sheets and check for evidence that the bride and groom sealed the deal."

Her friend made a face. "Uhh... like–"

She splashed water on her face, watching as it ran rusty-red down the drain in the sink. "Like blood, actually. Grossness. I'm supposed to be a clean virgin bride for my husband."

A snort. "Yeah."

Through water dripping in her face, Yuffie squinted. "What are you implying? That I'm _not_ a clean virgin bride for my future husband?"

"Are you kidding me?"

"Name one person!"

"Who then?"

She cleared her throat, thought about it, then decided on vagueness. No need to horrify her friend with unnecessary details of her mostly unfortunate sexual escapades. "A lady doesn't kiss and tell, Teef," she said, waggling a finger.

Tifa looked curious, but she must have decided against pursuing it at Yuffie's cheerfully obtuse expression. She changed the subject. "What happens if you _don't_ consummate?"

"Then someone might try to dig up evidence of it and force an annulment, and I'd be back at square one. If I don't marry within a month, the throne goes to the next-closest male relative of the Kisaragi line."

"And who would that be?"

"I'm not sure, we'd have to check the records. Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

Something murmured inside her. Leviathan, reminding her of his presence. Time to go see Godo, for sure. Yuffie only hoped she could get him lucid long enough to figure out why she had the giant lizard frolicking around her insides.

Yuffie rose, preparing to depart the room, and Tifa stood as well. The way she looked at her younger friend, it seemed she wanted to say something.

"Uh... you okay, Teef?"

"Well," she said, hesitation in her tone, "I called everyone."

Yuffie rubbed her face with both hands, vigorously. "When are they coming?"

"They'll be here tomorrow, most likely. Cid's bringing them on the _Shera_."

That meant she had twenty-four hours to prepare for well-meaning Hell from AVALANCHE. They were not going to be pleased.

"Well, since I only have a day left to live, I better go visit my pops."

She waved the guards aside and stepped into the sickroom. The smell of urine, cleaning supplies, and sick assaulted her nose. She was so accustomed to it by now, though, that she let it slide over her with no reaction. Today, someone had opened the curtains so that the sun, just beginning its descent toward the horizon, cast its golden rays across his bed. It lent him an illusion of health until she stepped closer and registered the ticking, beeping noises of medical equipment.

For the first two weeks of his illness, Yuffie had to brace herself in the hallway before entering the room. Her father did not get sick often, and she could not remember the last time he had been laid out or injured. Over time, his cough had worsened. At night sometimes, he would hack so hard he would vomit up what he had eaten. His energy petered out until he had almost shut down completely. She knew she didn't have much longer to find a remedy.

Godo was a husk of the man he used to be. His eyes had sunk into his head and looked like deep pits. His lips were chapped and flaking. The fine stitching of white flowers in the bedspread set a sharp contrast to his sad, withered hands.

"Dad?"

She hadn't expected him to waken, but then something inside her—that was her, but not—stirred. Something in Godo moved as well, almost as if in response. Godo's gaze slid slowly to her face. In the past few days, the color had begun to fade from his irises, and he could see less and less.

"Yuffie? It's you."

"It's me."

She grabbed one of his cold hands and squeezed. Two weeks ago, seeing him like this had made her cry, but she had moved past that. His skin was papery against hers, and she rubbed at his knuckles in an attempt to warm them.

"Leviathan feels that I am dying," he said.

His calm, blunt delivery shocked her so that she could not initially speak. In the silence, he broke into a fit of coughs. When he was finished, she took a wet rag from a glass on his bedside table and squeezed some water into his mouth.

"What are you talking about?"

"You are becoming…the true ruler of Wutai, chosen by Leviathan," he said with some effort.

Yuffie stomach lurched. _Chosen. _"What does that mean?"

His head rolled a little, falling into the golden light creeping across his pillow. The shadows between his wrinkles were thin but sharp. "White Rose, Fifth Mighty God, last of the Kisaragis—"

"Dad," she protested, cringing as he rattled off her formal titles.

He ignored her. "You're all of these things. You are the strongest, most important of all of us. I have felt it since I knew you growing in your mother's belly." He cleared his throat, resisting the impulse to cough again. If he started, he might not stop. Yuffie gave him some more water, and he spoke again. "When you bested me, the Pagoda gave you Leviathan's summon, merely a tool to teach you his power, his use. Now you will be the Empress. You will wield that power for yourself."

She had felt the presence of Leviathan since a young age. The first time she had words to question the feeling of another mind, another spirit energy of immense power touching her own, she had asked Staniv. At the time, her father was unapproachable with grief over the death of Yuffie's mother. Though Yuffie's childish attempts to describe the phenomenon were fumbling, Staniv understood almost immediately. She could still remember the look of delight on his face when she told him that sometimes when she spoke to the god, she thought he spoke back.

"You have to teach me," Yuffie said.

"I'm fading," he said, rolling his gaze back toward her. She brushed a tendril of his lengthening hair from his face, let the light play over the silver streaks in it. "Leviathan feels it. He is stronger in you than ever."

"I don't know how any of this works," she said, suddenly at a loss. "How will I when you're gone?"

"Chekhov oversaw my training, and now she will do the same for you. If it weren't for your mother, and then…" He struggled for the words to describe their choppy history, failed to find them. "It should be me teaching you. I've failed you again."

She did not know her father to speak openly about his innermost feelings, but approaching death's door had altered him. Thirteen years ago, this sort of honesty would have helped heal the rift between them—a rift that would ultimately send her on a mission to save her country, then her planet.

"I'll be with your mother soon, Yuffie. You used to look so much like me." He squinted into her face, trying so hard to see. "But lately, you look more like me."

Her eyes stung. Maybe she wasn't so beyond crying. "I love you, Dad. I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For everything ever."

A ball of sadness hardened in her, and Leviathan rumbled. In that moment, the weight of every disrespect she had ever shown her father pressed on her. She thought of every childish betrayal, every falsity and disappointment, and she thought she might drown.

His hand squeezed hers weakly, but the intent was clear.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, my daughter."

"I'm not ready."

He laughed low and rasping. "You already saved the world once."

"That doesn't mean I know how to rule a country. All I did then was kick ass."

His eyes slid closed. "You only have to do that now."

For a terrible moment, she thought he might have left her, he was so still. But his heart monitor plodded on, and his breathing deepened. She exhaled in relief.

Yuffie tipped her head back toward the ceiling, the tendons in her neck stretching and protesting. "I'm going to find who did this to you." She kissed his clammy forehead and stepped out.

Three days. She had three days to be Yuffie Kisaragi plus nothing, and then she'd be the Crowned White Rose of Wutai, wife of Tseng and ruler of a failing, stubborn country.


	4. Chapter 4

She made her announcement to a crowd of more than five thousand people gathered on the steps leading to the palace. A temporary platform, festooned with streamers and handcrafted paper flowers, had been erected for the purpose of this announcement, and her personal organizer had taken great care to alert her subjects of the impending information.

_Royal Announcement, by Princess Kiasaragi, Single White Rose of Wutai_, the fliers said. _Tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. on the palace steps. _In addition to fliers and live watchers, a camera crew filmed her for national televising purposes. The entire world would know of her plans to wed.

A cadre of guards flanked her, including Staniv, but the most noticeable member of the royal party was Reno in his suit. He made no attempts to be subtle about his presence, hair as red as always, EMR tucked tight to his side. Reno stood to the right of Tseng, who stood beside Yuffie in full ceremonial regalia—several layers of shirts, a thick belt, flaring pants. Everything was tip top, down to his socked-and-sandaled feet. Best for him to look as Wuteng as possible at this moment. Reno's garb was a tactical decision, a show of support as well as an undercurrent of threat for anyone who might think to challenge the White Rose's choice in partner.

She stepped up to the podium and onto the box meant to boost her, short as she was. Her wooden sandals clacked as they hit the wood of her platform. She took a deep breath and launched into her speech before her nerves could find a way to overcome her will. "People of Wutai, I welcome you on this beautiful morning," Yuffie said, her voice coasting over the crowd, enhanced to great power by a microphone and speakers. She was amazed at the sureness of her own tone, of the clarity and confidence bracing it.

"And I welcome you, watchers of the world, to the steps of my palace today," she said to the cameras, staring directly into the lenses with fierce gray eyes.

"I have gathered all of you here today to make public my impending marriage. Your princess intends to wed." The crowd's murmur swelled to a roar, and after a moment, she raised her hands for silence. Her kimono sleeves fluttered in the gentle breeze. As the sweat cooled on her neck, she thought of just how many people were listening at that moment. "I know some of you may be thinking '_finally_.'" She smiled like light on the river. "But I have taken so long and I have taken such great care in selecting my husband-to-be. I can have only the best for my beautiful country."

She inhaled. Time for some inspiring words. The crowd murmured and waited.

"For many long years, Wutai has struggled to stay afloat in a rapidly expanding world. Despite my father's attempts to preserve our land, the Wutai-Shinra War ravaged it. I watched as the land I knew so well, the land I love and respect, transformed from a historic place of great honor into a haven for unsavory characters and shady business dealings. I watched crime spike. I watched the streets become crowded with the homeless. Construction projects have rotted in their foundations. Roads have crumbled with time and wear. Education has been swallowed by the drain of poverty.

"With the political alliance I intend to form through my upcoming marriage, my great people, I will mend this place. I will heal this broken country from the inside out, with the help of my husband and his allies. You will see the fortune in this match, and you will accept it with a smile as I have."

The crowd rumbled. Yuffie had not simply _invited_ them to accept her marriage. She had ordered it.

"Now, without further ado, I present to you my fiancé and your future emperor, Wei Tseng."

She stepped to the side with ceremonial robes swirling and bowed her head in respect as her fiancée stepped up to her abandoned podium. He nodded to the crowd of flabbergasted Wuteng. Underneath the Wuteng-cherished facade of respect and deference, a faint hiss of disrespect lingered—who was this man in the suit of Shinra and the skin of Wutai?

Tseng's clear, smooth voice curled through the speakers and slipped into the agitated crowd. "I am honored to be selected as the White Rose's future husband. I know of no man who could refuse such an opportunity, and I will serve this country and your princess to the fullest of my considerable abilities." His words tiptoed down her spine and rooted somewhere in her stomach, and Yuffie marveled at the richness of his voice.

He stepped away from the microphone and bowed to the audience, his black hair slipping over his shoulders and swaying in the breeze. With a smart turn on his heel, he took his place next to the more conspicuous Reno, but this time, the audience was riveted on Tseng.

Yuffie took command of the stage once more. "People of Wutai, we mean to rebuild long-burned bridges. We mean to forge ties with the rest of the world and begin a new age of modernity and communication in the rapidly-expanding economies around us. Wutai can no longer be left in the dark, and this marriage will mark the beginning of a new era—an era of forgiveness and peace, of progress and change. As you have named me your Single White Rose, I will spread my roots in our floundering land and reinvigorate the soil from which I have grown."

A cheer, somewhat hesitant in tone but quickly speeding toward triumph, went up at her words. She smiled with all the practice of etiquette classes and stepped down from the podium. She would leave it in the hands of palace- and law-enforcers to clear out the crowd, which would no doubt be bustling with activity after all this new information.

She felt a hand on her back as she began moving toward the palace and was surprised to find Tseng at the end of the comforting gesture. Staniv, to her right, leaned into her ear as they filed into the huge front doors of her childhood home.

"You did very well," he said. "I am proud of you."

"Couldn't have done it without the note cards, Staniv," she replied, voice too quick and so light as to seem thin.

These words, from the stoic man who had so often seemed like a distant uncle to her, filled her with an emotion so sudden and so thick she almost choked on it. Tseng's hand at her back felt like an anvil, and he did not look into her eyes as she turned her sharp gaze to him.

When they went their separate ways, she felt the sizzling brand of his handprint, down to the whorls of his fingerprints, linger on her back.

.

After the speech, she got her first personal AVALANCHE call.

Yuffie had been heading down to the kitchens to grab a quick lunch and then hole herself up in her room playing solitaire when she heard Cid's unmistakable call. "Hey, kid!"

_Should've known there'd be no escaping the Good Intentions Squad, _she thought to herself, torn between dismay and genuine relief that she wouldn't have to wait anymore for the inevitable confrontation.

She managed a pivot that didn't look too hasty. This left them standing in the narrow hallway, just far enough apart that it seemed awkward. "Hey, wheezey. How's it going?"

This venue would not do at all. Cid's arms hung limply at his side, a cigarette dangling from his lip, in some absurdly lending him a lost-little-boy manner. She could tell he had no idea what to say to her, and she supposed accepting her adulthood was going to be a hard transition for the man. There were times in her life when Cid had been more of a guiding figure than her own father. He was no better at expressing his feelings than Godo, but Cid had been there through the most defining period of her existence. Her own father had not.

"I gotta talk to you."

"Oh, yeah? 'Bout what?"

She was surprised when he closed the gap between them in a few quick strides and took her by the shoulders, steering her into a nearby room. Cid was not really a touchy person—she had only ever seen him kiss Shera in public on a select few occasions, and he almost never touched Yuffie.

He released her, shutting the door behind the two of them. They were in one of the guest rooms. The occupant was not present, but his clothes had been strewn partway out of the open suitcase lying at the foot of the bed. Yuffie guessed by the size of the pants that they were currently in Barret's room.

She turned when Cid said roughly, "You sure you know what you're doing?"

A hint of acid crept into her voice. "Will it really matter if I say yes or no?"

Blue eyes going flinty, he scowled at her. "What'd I do to deserve that much sass?"

She glared and crossed her arms. "I dunno, maybe manhandling me into a secret talk against my will. We can start there."

They remained at a standoff for a tense moment, Yuffie with her arms crossed over her chest and her chin tipped back defiantly, Cid with his hands in his pockets. After a moment, though, the lines around his eyes softened and he began to chew on the end of his cigarette. It was a habit she recognized.

"You're worried about me."

He shrugged, giving up on pretense. "I'm not the only one."

Yuffie fell onto the bed behind her, feeling exhausted beyond compare already. Cid was only the first in a long procession, she was sure. "I don't like it very much either, but… better the devil you know."

"The devil we know's done a lot of bad shit."

She flushed. "AVALANCHE started out as a bunch of bomb-happy terrorists, remember?"

"That's different," he protested.

"People change."

"Who are you trying to convince? Me or you?"

She sat as he stood, and his height over her seemed skewed and too tall in this charged conversation. Yuffie bounced a little on the mattress to dispel the feeling. "He can help me, Cid. He has the skills to help me find the people who poisoned my father."

"We could help you with that," Cid said.

"I know you could. But you have lives you have to get back to at some point. I don't know how long it's going to take to track down these people."

He took his cigarette from his mouth, then sat down next to her on the bed. "I got a bad feeling about this."

She didn't know what to say to him to convince him she was making the right decision. Truth be told, she wasn't entirely sure she was. The further this whole thing went, the more she felt as if she were walking a long, thin plank with the ocean churning below.

Her stomach growled in the silence. She popped to her feet and said brightly, "Wanna get lunch?"

She stood, and he said, "Just be careful, kid."

"I'm twenty-three years old, Cid."

He left the bed and followed her to the door. "You'll always be a kid to me."

"Careful, or I'll usurp Rocket Town and exile you. I can do that now, you know."

His reply was littered with four-letter words, but she heard the laughter underneath.

.

That evening, after giving her guards the slip with the ease of a long-practiced habit, she went for another late night wander to the liquor cabinet. She wondered offhand if she would have another dreamlike encounter with her new Turk acquaintances. _Sweet Da Chao, I need a drink._

Opening the door into the liquor room revealed no Reno, no Rude, and no Elena, however. She stepped into the darkness, groping for the light switch. Renovations to the palace when Yuffie was a child, which had included the installation of electricity, had proven to all involved that Wutai was criminally behind the times. All the switches had been placed just far enough into the room to cause bother when searching for them in the dark.

"Damn it," she hissed, and just under the noise of her own fumblings, she heard something else. Instead of freezing, her first instinct, she continued to feel around. Her hand had touching the plastic of the switch plate a few seconds before, but she continued her actions in what she hoped was a convincing manner.

With her other hand, she reached inside her kimono, where ten tiny throwing stars had been secreted in subtle places. Palming two of them and taking a deep breath, she flipped the light and dropped into a crouch. The artificial glare drenched the room. At first, she thought she saw no one, then something flickered behind one of the wine racks. She threw the shuriken there, shattering one bottle and embedding the second star into the wood.

"Who's in there?" she barked. "If you're trying to kill me, you're really bad at it."

She cursed the limited mobility of her clothing and her terribly uncomfortable geta-with-socks-combo. At the same time she cursed those, she thanked her mother and father for providing her with battle training that most other princesses had not.

On some instinct, some soundless but tangible _ping_ within her which had no name but always existed, Yuffie rolled to the right and sprang backward into the hallway. She heard the _thud-thud-thud_ of a projectile hitting the section of wall behind where she had just been standing. She snagged one shuriken from a chest pocket and flung it, slamming the door behind her.

Yuffie extended her awareness to the materia bracelet encircling her left wrist and felt the warmth of magic spread through her blood. A hum encompassed her, and she welcomed the familiar feeling.

Between each finger on her right hand, she squeezed three sharp throwing stars, with which she almost killed Tseng when he materialized at her side.

"Holy shit, do _not_ sneak up on me like that," she hissed. "I'm in the middle of something here!"

"I can see that," he said, tone clipped and unamused. A handgun looked snug in his right hand, and his left hand hovered over something on his hip. She didn't want to know what, as long as he was prepared.

"Someone's in there. Haven't managed to catch a good glimpse of them. Too busy closing the door before I got a couple new chest piercings."

"I'll open the door on the count of three," he said, his voice quiet but possessing the authority of a man used to being in charge. "One."

She inhaled.

"Two."

She spread her feet.

"Three."

He opened the door and stepped back in a quick movement. Nothing happened for several moments.

She could see nothing in the total darkness beyond the doorway. She wondered about it until she recalled the sound of breaking glass and concluded the assailant must have shattered the lightbulb. Tseng put out a hand to her to stay, his expression brooking no argument. Miffed at him ordering her about, she raised her wrist bracelet as he crept into the room and whispered, "Fire."

A plume of flame bloomed in the middle of the room, and she saw Tseng drop to a crouch. When nothing happened besides the crackling fireball which illuminated their surroundings, he looked back at her with furious eyes. She tried not to blanch at the intensity of his anger. He looked worse than Barret on a bad day.

Resolving to ignore him and amazed at her new control over the magical elements, she shivered as Leviathan twitched in her consciousness. The brilliance of the fire had something to do with the god, she was sure.

Without a word, she tiptoed into the room behind him, hugging the wall. Her hands bumped against something embedded in the wall. A quick glance revealed . From underneath a far shelf, the one embedded with a dagger and dripping white wine from a broken bottle, she caught sight of a pool of some liquid. The fire's light flickered on it, making it impossible to determine its identity, but she had her suspicions already.

Tseng once again gestured for her to wait. She blew out a skeptical breath, fluttering her bangs, but stayed in her place. _Not_ because he had ordered her to, but because it would be good to hang back in case he got a faceful of knife.

After a short moment, he came back around the damaged wine rack. His expression betrayed nothing. "There's a throwing star lodged in his neck."

"Guess my aim's a little better than I thought," she said brightly.

Her sandal crunched on the ground, and she looked down. Amidst the remains of the overhead light fixture, she saw one of the tiny knives the man had been chucking at her. She must have hit him mid-throw, sending his shot wide. Yuffie rounded the rack and saw the damage she had done. Her throwing star had torn into his throat like wet paper, stuck halfway through the jumbled remains of his neck. Tseng kneeled beside the body, peeling a cloth mask back from the man's face.

"Do you recognize him?" he asked, using one finger to turn the assassin's face toward the light.

Yuffie did not respond immediately, taking the time to study the man's slack features. He looked mostly nondescript, the perfect face for an assassin. "I've never seen him before."

He let the man's head fall to the side again and stood. "Thanks to your impeccable aim, we won't be able to question him."

Yuffie thought he might still be angry for catching him off guard with the fire trick earlier. "I was saving my own skin."

"I will have the Turks comb the scene of his death."

"In that case, I'm going to hit the hay. It's been a long day."

Tseng had not put away his weapon at any point. "I will escort you back to your room."

"I really don't need—"

"To ensure your throat isn't cut on the way back," he said impatiently.

"No, really, I'm fine. I took care of this, didn't I?" She stepped gingerly around the puddle of blood soaking into the woven floormats and headed for the hall.

She stopped abruptly when Tseng stepped into her path. He did not touch her, but he stood very close, and his proximity made her suddenly nervous. His eyebrows were bunched, and Yuffie could tell he was ticked. "I'll walk you back to your rooms," he repeated after a long pause.

She stopped herself before she bit his head off. In a few days, this would be a partnership, and as much as she didn't like the arrangement, she thought she might as well try to get on her husband-to-be's good side. "Fine."

He followed closely at her heels on the way back to her rooms, making her feel jumpy. When they reached the door, two very surprised guards stammered out questions. She silenced them both with a wave of her hands, but before she could escape into her room, Tseng said, "Keep a better watch on her. She was almost killed when she escaped your notice."

Yuffie's nostrils flared, but she quickly schooled her features and clamped down on her anger. Tseng could still refuse her. While she was angry with him for talking down to her in front of her guards, she also needed to demonstrate her control. He could easily still back out on her, and she needed to play it safe. "Thank you for your assistance, Tseng. I won't need you for anything else."

If he took the last part for the jab it was, he made no indication. "Good night, Princess," he said, bowing. She watched him make a sharp, quick exit, then retired to her rooms for the night, ignoring the guards' furtive glances. The whole palace would have heard about it by morning.

.

After Cid and an assassin, Yuffie thought, maybe, the best plan would be to actually listen to her cranky ex-Turk fiancée and stay in her room until the wedding. Not that being wed to Tseng would be a magical cure-all for almost being whacked in her own home on a regular basis, but at least she'd be alive until she officially ruled the country.

Plus, hiding in her room kept her away from her questioning friends. Or so she had been thinking until a knock sounded at her door.

Her stomach growled in anticipation. Finally. _Lunch._

"Open the door! I got food for ya!"

She groaned. _Barret._

"Come on in," she called. Even hiding in her room all day she couldn't avoid them.

Barret pushed open the door with his flesh hand, precariously balancing a tray of delicious food on his gun arm. Springing up from the bed in her haste, Yuffie snatched the tray from him before he could spill her mushu pork all over the antique rugs.

He stuck out a hand and mussed her hair, compressing her spine almost three inches with the force of it. "Hey, Barret," she grumbled.

"You better be more excited to see your old pal Barret. Else I'll have to whoop you."

"Hi, Barret!" she chirped, infusing her voice with false cheer. "It's so good to see you! Would you like to join me for lunch, Barret!"

"I'll pretend that wasn't fake as hell," he said, seating himself awkwardly on her bed. There was a low table meant for dining in the corner. She imagined him hunched over it and decided to let him sit where he wanted. She settled next to him cross-legged, sinking into the mattress.

They dug in without speaking. One thing about Barret she never got tired of, which she had grown to miss since they had stopped traveling together, was his respect for the first few, crucial minutes of a meal. When you spent your day wondering if you would even live to see dinner, you savored what you got.

After a silence, Barret swallowed noisily and said, "This is almost better than Tifa's fried chicken."

"Almost?"

He leaned in close, his voice a low growl. "Nothing's better than Tifa's fried chicken, and if you tell her I said different, I'll take you down with me."

She nodded seriously. Tifa's wrath was as legendary as her cooking.

"My lips are sealed."

"Good." He took another bite, then said with his cheeks full of food, "You sure you know what you're gettin' into?"

Yuffie thought she might try the direct approach. She pasted on a huge smile. "Yes."

He crossed his arms and pinned her with a hard stare. The effect was somewhat ruined, in her mind, by the three pieces of rice stuck in his beard, but she pretended not to notice that. "You don't have nothin' better than that?"

She sighed. "Look, unless your daddy was Wuteng and you hide it really well, I don't have much of a choice."

He laughed, practically rattling the windows. "I wouldn't marry you no how, no way. Well, wait, now, maybe I could save some money on babysittin' fees with Marlene. You think I could forge some papers sayin' I'm half-Wuteng?"

She spluttered with laughter. "You look about as Wuteng as Nanaki."

He sobered suddenly, staring at some point over her shoulder with a stubborn set to his jaw. "I don't like it," he said. "I don't like you marryin' one of them Shinra dogs."

Of all the former members of AVALANCHE, Barret had had the most difficulty adjusting to Rufus Shinra's revelation that he was, in fact, alive and that he had switched allegiances. He had protested vocally at Rufus's funding the WRO, and only in the last year or so had he begun to relax in the presence of the Turks.

"I tried. You should've seen some of the candidates I interviewed. They made Tseng look like a respectable businessman."

He frowned. "You know he's doing this on Shinra's orders," he said. "He wants to know how Wutai works from the inside."

"I hope he doesn't expect to find anything exciting here," Yuffie half-joked. He wouldn't have much to report to Rufus. Wutai was exactly how it looked—broken and in desperate need of repair.

"Yuffie," he said, and she knew whatever he was feeling was rare. He never said her first name. "Just be careful."

"Don't worry so much," she said, "he'll just be telling Rufus what a terrible ruler I am."

He put a fist down on the table so hard that the cups and bowls clattered in their saucers. Yuffie had to scramble to catch their plates before they fell from the table. "Every leader has doubts. You just can't let 'em get in the way of you leading." His eyes shone with an emphatic light, and she thought this was the Barret she knew best.

She knew, though, that he would get wound up in a speech if she didn't intercept him. "Thanks for the sage advice."

"Your jokes are bad, but I trust your judgment." He dug into his food again. "Don't look at me like that, brat. I _do_."

Of all people, Barret had the most reason to believe she had lost her mind. Yet here he sat, looking at her plainly, as if he wasn't terrified she would screw up and kill them all in the next few minutes. In that moment, she felt that she might just be able to pull this whole thing off.

"Thanks," she said quietly.


	5. Chapter 5

For the first few hours of her confinement to her room, Yuffie attempted to read a paperback to pass the time. She was continually distracted by her legendary short attention span as well as thoughts of what could be happening in the rest of her home. She wondered what the Turks were getting up to while she was sequestered; she wondered what Rufus might be doing in her ancestral home.

She had been thinking, too, about the intruder—who sent him? Would they send more now that she had taken care of the first? She didn't like the idea that she was cooped up in this room when there could be intruders. The thought of how he had made it past her guards also plagued her. However, she had been noticing some issues with the palace guard recently.

And that was precisely how she made it out of her room after ten hours of fruitlessly trying to sit still. It only took waiting until her guards were changing—sometimes they left a minute-long gap between when two of them left and two more took their place. She thought she would need to address this problem soon, but for now she waited, ear pressed to the door. When she heard their voices fade away, she slipped out and scurried down the left corridor, which would take her past the guest living areas, past the liquor room, and further to the kitchens.

She stopped when she heard voices around the corner. Panic started in her belly, and she thought about darting the other way. After she had edged a careful step backward, she realized the owners of the voices did not seem to be coming closer.

Yuffie was never one to pass up an eavesdropping opportunity. She cocked an ear and hoped she would not be discovered.

"I just want you to know," the first voice said, and Yuffie was shocked to hear Cloud's familiar cadence, "nobody's fooled."

"Was there something you wanted to say?"

"No matter what you've done to help us recently, you're still a Turk."

"None of the things I did were to help you," Tseng replied flatly.

"That's exactly my point. Your loyalty is to Rufus."

Yuffie was dumbfounded to hear Cloud defend her. She and Cloud were friends, but sometimes Yuffie thought he was only tolerating her presence. Looking back now, though, she realized she'd had that feeling less and less in the past few years.

There was a pause. She felt the silence stretch. Then Tseng said, "You know nothing of my loyalties."

"If you don't protect her," Cloud said, and his voice was steady, and Yuffie could picture his hard blue eyes, "I'll make sure you regret it."

She was almost too stunned to hear the footsteps coming her way. She scrambled to hide and realized she had nowhere to go as Cloud came around the corner and spotted her. She put a hasty finger to her lips, eyes wide. He stopped for a moment, then rolled his eyes and stepped around her without saying a word.

After that, she decided to stay in her room. Well, except the two times she snuck out to the kitchen and grabbed snacks. Tifa ate dinner with her once, and she spent the last day mostly alone as anticipation for the wedding mounted.

The first twelve hours of her wedding day were a haze of ladies waiting on her, men and women making arrangements, and people poking and prodding and plucking every inch of her body. She felt bald and smooth and somewhat like a newborn baby.

She stood before her mirror in her underwear – bindings, panties, and nothing else. Someone knocked, and she threw on a robe, sloppy and beyond caring. For three days, someone had been there to monitor her mode of dress, her decorum, her manners, and she wasn't about to pick up in this momentary lull.

"Who is it?" she called.

"Tifa here to see you," replied a guard.

"Come in."

In slipped Tifa, who hugged her before saying anything. Yuffie accepted the affection, grateful for a human touch meant for comfort rather than correction.

Tifa wore a dark green dress, with sharp-cut shoulders and a generous neckline. A bow gathered the fabric on her right hip, and black pumps adorned her feet. A clutch completed the ensemble. Yuffie had the terrible thought that Tifa would outshine her even at her own wedding. She was used to being outstripped in the looks department with people like Aeris and Tifa around.

"Are you ready?" Tifa asked, holding Yuffie at arms' length and searching her face.

She took an unsteady breath. "Always."

Tifa let go and went to the mirror and picked up Yuffie's mother's mother-of-pearl brush. She stroked it gently through the tail of her braided hair. "It's okay to be nervous. I would be."

"Nervous? I'm never nervous."

"So you're always ready and you're never nervous?"

Yuffie walked to the mirror and looked at herself standing side-by-side with the barmaid. "Your faith in me is wonderful and inspiring. Thank you."

"You know I just worry about you." Tifa reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Yuffie's ear.

Yuffie softened a bit. "I know."

The comforting hand ruffled her hair. "I'm going to help you get ready."

"The ladies Chekhov hired to make me pretty won't like that."

Tifa cracked her knuckles. "Oh?"

Yuffie's eyebrows arched. "Point taken."

"Let's start with getting this monstrosity on you."

"Monstrosity's a good word for it," she agreed.

The wedding kimono was a sight to behold. Just looking at it made Yuffie nervous. First, she had to put on the under-layers. Then the two outer layers. Tifa helped her shoulder into each successively heavier coat. Embroidery of white roses, which must have taken many painstaking hours for a seamstress to complete by hand, adorned the outside kimono.

"How do I tie this knot?" Tifa asked as she fiddled with Yuffie's obi.

Yuffie made a face at herself in the mirror. "I look like a ghost in this thing."

"You look fine, now help me."

The knot on her obi took almost longer than putting on all the layers. It had to be tied in such a way that the obi could only be removed by the groom on the wedding night, and it had to be huge. The fabric from the bow trailed the floor. In fact, the whole set trailed the floor; it would be Tifa's job to help Yuffie maneuver in the bulky outfit.

"Now for the hair – what are the plans for the hair again?"

Tifa stared at her in the mirror, then fluffed Yuffie's boycut hair. Not much they could do with so little.

"The plans are to put on a headdress."

"Do I have to do anything with that?"

"Nope – it's been constructed in advance, for this exact situation. Just part my hair to the side, spray it into place, and pin the freaking thing to my head."

This took some doing, however. Tifa had to reposition it several times. It had to be six inches high, bedecked with beads and feathery bits of cloth and veils and fake blossoms. Its structure made it top-heavy, and Yuffie just knew she would rip half her scalp off when she removed it later.

Later. In her bedchamber with Tseng. She tried not to think about what she was planning to do.

"There, does that feel secure?"

"I… think so."

"Ever walked with books on your head?"

"Um. No. Why the hell would I do that?"

Tifa sighed. "Never mind. I should've known. What next?"

"Makeup. I suck hard at this part, Tifa."

"I'm not bad at it." She winked.

"But are you good at traditional Wuteng makeup? Let me get a picture of my mom for you to mimic."

A moment later, Tifa held an ornate frame in her hands. She studied the photograph there. "She's beautiful, Yuffie."

"I know, right? Dad told me I used to look like her. Then he told me I look more like him lately. I dunno if that's a good or a bad thing. I used to think I'd never be as beautiful as her."

"And now?"

Yuffie stared at herself in the mirror, pulled down one eyelid and stuck out her tongue. "Now? Now I just don't care. I'm Yuffie."

"I like Yuffie."

"Me too." A comfortable pause. "So, you see how to do it now?"

"All these little containers here have what I need?" Tifa gestured to the expansive collection of powders, creams, and brushes on the vanity table in front of them. Usually, they were put away in the drawers, but the ladies had dragged them out when testing colors and combinations on her throughout the day.

"Let's see if we can get this done. We don't have much more time."

Tifa worked quickly with a reference. She looked with sharp eyes at the picture, then dabbed and stroked Yuffie's face with all manner of brushes. The sensation of the cold paints and the fine brushes on her skin was almost soothing. Though usually she avoided makeup like the plague, she let herself enjoy the treatment. She had never had someone else apply it.

"One day," Tifa murmured as she applied paint to Yuffie's lips, "we'll do a proper makeover, where we wash each other's hair and do each other's nails, and put on pretty dresses and go out and look cute and then come back and watch girly movies. Deal?"

Yuffie's lips twitched. Luckily, Tifa had already put on the lipstick.

"Open your eyes and look up."

A few minutes later, Tifa told her to look in the mirror.

Yuffie thought the face looking back at her had to be her mother. Then she realized it was just herself, covered in white paint and white clothes and a white headdress. Her dark hair and eyes stood out starkly. Tifa had added some creative touches to her eye makeup, and Yuffie's eyes seemed large and soft. She looked utterly unlike herself – a phantom bride, prepared to sit quietly by her husband's side on the throne.

Fat chance.

"Let me help you get into these sandals, and then I have a surprise for you."

She knelt and rolled the socks up Yuffie's legs, then slipped the wooden sandals onto her feet. Yuffie cringed at the rub of wood on cloth, gritting her teeth. Tifa held out her hand and helped the Princess rise.

Then, Tifa reached into her clutch and pulled out a black cord necklace, which she slipped over Yuffie's head. At the end of the black thong hung a beaten, tarnished metal circle. Or almost a circle—one open segment kept it from being whole. She thought the charm had seen some abuse; pits and scars marred the surface of the metal.

"Tifa… what is this?"

"This piece is very special to me." Tifa smiled a smile that crept up her eyes and rounded her cheeks. "Master Zangan gave it to me."

Yuffie's eyes widened. "Zangan? You mean the man who taught you to fight?"

She nodded. "Yes, that's him." She took Yuffie's hand and closed it around the metal. The warmth of Tifa's hand lingered on its surface. "He gave me this the first time I bested him in unarmed combat. This is called an Enso, and it's a symbol of the absolute."

"I can't take this," Yuffie protested. "It's yours."

"You're going to earn it over the course of this marriage. The Enso represents the visible and the invisible, the simple and the profound. It means infinity – that's why it never actually closes. It opens into the world to share itself."

Various protests surged through Yuffie_. This isn't a love match, Tifa. It's not going to last. I won't be sharing much of anything._ But at the look on her older friend's sweet face, she swallowed the squirming mass of objections and asked a questions instead.

"But why are you giving me this?"

"You're going to need a clear head, you're going to need to share yourself with this country. Remember to keep your eyes open. The Enso will remind you. And when it feels like too much, remember you can always talk to me."

Yuffie stared at the disc in her hand, rubbing her fingertips over the rough metal. She thought she might be able to feel the wisdom of many years warming its grooves.

"But hey." She hugged Yuffie hard around the shoulders, fierce and sudden. "What do I know?" Her voice sounded oddly choked. "I've never ruled a country."

"Me either." Yuffie swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. "Well. I guess it's about time."

Tifa pulled back and looked at her wrist. "According to my watch, anyway, we have fifteen minutes to get you out there."

"I'll need all the time I can get in this damn dress."

The metal disc fit into her robes nicely – hidden and secure. The presence against her breast bolstered her courage. She could do this. She knew she could, despite the hot spring of anxiety inside her stomach. Leviathan shifted.

Guards accompanied them on their way to the royal shrine, where they would be married in front of a crowd of Wuteng people. Five of them flanked her, weapons equipped and eyes alert. None made conversation, and Yuffie felt twitchy at their tense silence. The shrine loomed, redolent with colorful paints and eaves. She swallowed hard at the hundreds of people gathered outside, watching her approach. Soon to be her subjects.

"You're ready," Tifa said into her ear.

"I am." But she wasn't sure.

She really wasn't sure when she saw all the people. They stood waiting for her, and a path with guards for walls cut through the swathe. At the center of the crowd, inside the circle of paint drawn on the floor for such ceremonies, stood Tseng, flanked by Rufus and the ex-Turks. On Yuffie's side of the circle, a group of familiar faces waited.

She stepped into position facing her groom, and looked into his dark, calm eyes. AVALANCHE behind her gave her strength. She felt a hand on the small of her back, and Reeve stood beside her. He leaned into her ear. "We're here."

She could only nod. She'd have time for them after the ceremony. For now, gratitude swelled in her just knowing they were present.

The holy man presiding over their union began to speak. His voice rang out above the crowd, which quieted. "The house of Kisaragi and Wei stand before us today, prepared to unite their destinies."

The priest's voice faded to a buzz as Yuffie's nerves jangled. She could only stare into Tseng's eyes, trying to mask her fear. She found nothing in them—they remained blank and free of emotion. Gone was any glimpse at personality she had witnessed in the past few days. She felt like a storm of emotion battering against a Wuteng wall of a man.

She focused on the textures of Tseng's ceremonial robes – the white whorls of cherry blossoms and the shining scales of the dragons embroidered on the hems. All were done in varying shades of white – creams and eggshells and pearls. He seemed to her a blank piece of paper with the trappings of her people scribbled on him.

The traditional blessings were bestowed, words she had heard over and over in her youth, at many a wedding, common or royal. Now they applied to her. _Am I supposed to feel special? Are these words supposed to mean something to me?_

The priest wished them long life, health, and many children; a successful partnership; happiness and good fortune. The priest wished them many vaguely positive concepts. The priest wished for an obedient wife and a faithful husband.

Yuffie _almost_ snorted. Obedient wife. She made a note to get the wording in the default vows changed.

"Wei Tseng, please present your offering to the Single White Rose."

From a platform to their left, Tseng retrieved something and knelt before her with a regal air. From a small parcel, he pulled a red slipper. Gently, he grasped Yuffie's ankle and fitted her foot into it. His fingers felt suddenly invasive, and she had the urge to flee. He followed up with the other shoe, then rose and towered over her once more. The rest of the bundle contained a red jacket, which he slipped over her arms, and a red veil, which he draped over her elaborate headdress.

In Wuteng culture, red symbolized many things for weddings. The blood of her people and the blood of her family, happiness, prosperity, good health, passion. To Wutai, red represented life and was an auspicious color.

"Your Highness, do you accept his offering?"

In return, Yuffie gathered a bundle from the table and returned the gesture of putting slippers on Tseng's feet. She noted that he had well-groomed feet, not like Cid with his yucky, uneven toenails. At least Tseng knew about the delightful invention of toenail clippers. She followed up the shoes with a red sash which she draped over his kimono.

This action—which made her feel disgustingly submissive, even though he had made the same gesture—meant yes, for her part. She thought about that yes, thought hard in a short span of time. _Yes, I'll be watching you like a hawk. Yes, Shinra may enter my country. Yes, Shinra may enter my bed. _

The priest joined their hands, and Tseng's long, calloused fingers twined with hers. She felt dwarfed by him. She felt like the ground might shatter beneath her.

"May your union be favorable in the eyes of the gods, Kisaragi Yuffie and Kisaragi Tseng, previously Wei Tseng."

Leviathan, silent up until that moment, rumbled within her. She thought it might be a reaction to the completed ceremony of her wedding, but then he roared, and she heard it ring in her ears and vibrate to the tips of her toes. A pain shot through her chest, right where she thought her heartbeat reverberated, and she gasped and clutched at herself.

"Yuffie? What's wrong?" Reeve asked from behind her.

Her eyes watered, and she almost collapsed to her knees. She sucked air in hard. The crowd began to murmur as faces swam before her vision.

"I think… I think Dad needs me."

Then she was off like a shot, her guards scrambling to catch up.

She might have lost some beads along the way, but Yuffie paid no heed. Her family's God raged within her, crying out in pain, and she knew then that her father was dying. When she shoved past the guards and burst through his door, she heard him call for her over the ruckus.

"Dad!"

"Come here, Yuffie." His voice, so weak, almost made her cringe.

She grabbed his hand from his side and grasped it. If it was a little too hard, he said nothing. "It's gonna be okay."

Leviathan roared his disagreement, and she clutched herself with an audible groan.

"Leviathan knows."

"That stupid fish doesn't know anything," she said through gritted teeth.

"That stupid fish will save your life one day," he said. Then he started coughing, and she scrambled to put a handkerchief to his face. When she was finally able to take it away, blood flecked the white cloth.

"No," she hissed. "No way. You stay with me, you old bastard. We can still fix you."

"The throne is yours now," he wheezed, eyes squeezed shut with the pain.

"Please, Dad."

Using the last vestiges of his strength, he reached up and touched her wet cheek. She was crying. "You were such a difficult child. I always loved you."

"No, please, Dad, you have to hold on a _little_ longer."

He looked past her, and his glassy eyes fixed on the group of people who had pushed past the guards and flooded into the room. AVALANCHE, the former Turks. They had stopped to leave room for the grieving girl, and a respectful bubble of silence seemed to separate them from her.

"Your husband will protect you now, and your friends," her father said.

At this, to her great surprise, Tseng stepped through the crowd of people and bowed deeply to her father. His glossy hair slid forward and brushed the ground. "Your highness," he murmured.

Though he was blind, Godo's eyes seemed to pin Tseng. "Look after my daughter. She attracts trouble."

Tseng straightened. "You have my word."

"Yuffie." He grasped her hand in his again, weak but still trying. "All will be well, my daughter. Don't worry."

And then his hand loosened in her own. Limp fingers slipped from hers. His eyes fluttered, his breath hitched, bubbled, and stopped. Yuffie buried her face in his still-warm palm.

"Bye," she sighed. And so quiet no one heard it, she whispered into his calloused hand.

"I love you, Daddy."

Leviathan's power dried her tears in a white hot flash, and she blacked out.


	6. Chapter 6

When she came to, something wet and cool stroked her forehead. Memories of a night blurred by time came to her; tossing in the throes of fever, her mother's hands at her brow. Yuffie let this illusion play out until her head cleared. She said without opening her eyes, "Someone please tell me I didn't just pass out."

"Are you okay?" Tifa muttered near her ear. Her warm breath puffed over Yuffie's skin, contrasting uncomfortably with the cold cloth she – because it _was_ Tifa; who else would it be? – had been running over Yuffie's forehead.

"Guess I just got a little overwhelmed," she replied.

Cracking an eye, she sought out Tseng. He stood directly to the right of the bed, closest after Tifa. AVALANCHE was also in attendance. She let out a small, quiet groan. They had questions.

"Tseng, you've probably already figured this out, but I need you to stay close to me. People _will_ want you dead. Unless you're having second thoughts, in which case, your only options are suicide and assassination. So you could, like, go stand on the roof for a while if you're feeling blue. I'm sure some bullets would find you eventually."

He didn't respond, his gaze making her uneasy. He seemed searching, as if he sensed something off.

"Yuffie," Red XIII said very quietly, almost as if he were not sure he should proceed, "we felt something odd when your father passed."

She swallowed. When he passed. Past tense. She hadn't yet accepted what happened in her father's sickroom, and she felt snared between the time of his life and now, after his death. She could not seem to bridge the gap in her mind.

Tifa's hand squeezed her shoulder gently, bringing her back. Yuffie hesitated. Something told her not to divulge information secreted and coveted by generations of Wuteng royals. She felt the mental rub, her instincts and conscience straining against each other, but she lied anyway.

"As Dad died," she said, the lie flowing from her tongue with ease, a lie like _I don't know where your materia is_, only much bigger, "the spiritual status of ruler passed to me. Rulers of Wutai don't really have coronations or anything; the throne passed to me, and you felt it." She sighed and leaned back into the pillows, hoping they wouldn't question her half-baked lie. Yuffie herself was not quite sure what had happened to her.

She wondered what she could do with this newfound power. Could she speak to Leviathan? That was a right she could only make use of now that her father had died. Before, he had been the link.

_They must be preparing his body right now_. Her eyes pricked. Her hands rose almost of their own accord and began to rub at her temples.

"Hey, guys…"

Tifa sensed her shifting mood and stood from her bedside. "All right, everybody out." She looked down at Yuffie. "Do you want me to stay?"

Yuffie shook her head. "No, but thanks anyways." She looked up at the man to her right, who stood solemnly against the wall. "Tseng, you can leave if you want, but I'd feel better if you stayed with me for right now."

Actually, she wanted to be alone, but even with the Turks and AVALANCHE around a creeping sense of paranoia warned her to keep Tseng close. She herself had already faced one attacker, and he would be highly at risk now – even more than _she_ normally was, as the White Rose. He was ex-Shinra, and not everyone in this broken nation would be happy to accept him with open arms.

AVALANCHE filed out. Only when Tifa called a last good-bye and closed the door behind her did Yuffie relax into the pillows

She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, almost snapping her neck at the sheer weight of her headdress and elaborate hair-style. "Ouch," she muttered.

Forcing her head forward with her hands, she began working at the mess of tangles. The headdress, bedecked with white beads and held in place by pins, had become a snarl in all the commotion. She tugged experimentally on a pin dripping with pearls. It didn't budge.

Her fatigue coupled with the events of the day tipped the scales on her fragile emotions. She was angry suddenly, and gave the stuck pin a hard yank. It came away but took a few strands of hair with it. "Ow," she breathed, then sat back, mentally scolding herself. Her head pounded.

Yuffie didn't hear him approach, but her eyes snapped open when she felt him touch her. She looked into his inscrutable eyes, and he looked back impassively. "Um," she said.

She only realized what he was doing when he showed her the pin he had untangled from the area by her temple. He dropped it on the night stand. It made a small _plink_ as it hit the wood. "Sit still," he said.

"Okay," she said, voice faint.

She tried to help him a couple of times, a little unnerved at the idea of him with his hands on her head. "I can do it."

Really, Yuffie was exhausted, and she didn't feel capable of tackling her hair. But he was behaving oddly like a gentleman, and she was nervous. It had struck her that Tseng was basically a stranger, and that she had deliberately let him into her intimate personal life.

She sent a prayer to Leviathan that she had made the right decision.

After a few minutes of trying to assist him and just managing to get in the way, she gave in and let him disentangle her. He seemed content to be silent, and she really did not have the energy to do anything but enjoy the reprieve from questions.

After about ten minutes, he leaned away from her and gathered the pins in his hands. Pearls stuck out between his fingers. "Where do you want these?"

She waved a tired hand. "Just dump 'em on the vanity. They'll be fine there."

A pause. She watched him study the items on the dressing table – makeup, jewelry, a creased paperback. He opened a drawer and carefully deposited the pins, then trailed his hand absently over the cover of the book.

"Thanks," she said, feeling out of her element. "For helping with that."

He met her gaze in the mirror, his back still turned. She tried looking him in the eyes, but his shoulders seemed like a fence she couldn't get around. "You're welcome."

"What time is it?"

He flicked back his sleeve and glanced at a modest watch on his left wrist. "Eight p.m."

Not just eight – eight _p.m._ Yuffie almost sighed. She'd have to locate the stick and take it out of him before her head started spinning.

A disturbance at the door stopped her thoughts. Quicker than she thought possible, Tseng was standing in front of her with his right hand inside his kimono. _Note to self: Tseng's definitely packing._

"—_will_ let me in to see her, now stand aside! The Third Mighty God commands it!" The door opened as Shake burst in, several annoyed-looking guards close behind him. "Yuffie! Are you okay?" He made a move toward her, but then his eyes lit on Tseng between them.

"Oh."

Yuffie scowled, less-than-pleased. "Shake. What the – what are you doing?" She remembered the guards watching and nodded to them. Dismissed, they filed out.

Shake watched them leave, then turned. "I saw you faint at Lord Godo's bedside, and I tried to get to you, but he got to you first." His statement was directed at Yuffie, but his eyes bored holes into Tseng.

Unsure of how well she masked her surprise, Yuffie leveled her voice. "So?" She really wasn't in the mood for Shake.

He crossed his arms and finally stopped staring at Tseng, directing his gaze toward a point over her shoulder. "I was worried."

She knew under his bluster he really was concerned for her. She glanced at Tseng and, without a word, he stepped to the side. His hand fell from his robes, but he watched the conversation with acute attention.

Shake's mouth thinned as his gaze darted from Tseng to her. "About your father."

"What about him?" Her stomach churned. _Dad_.

"We're sending him off tomorrow."

She passed a hand over her face. "Thank you for coming, Shake."

He seemed to recognize the dismissal. "You're welcome. Get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow."

Shake closed the door behind him. She was just becoming worried when the silence would become awkward when her stomach growled. "I'm hungry. Are you hungry?" she asked.

"I could eat," Tseng said.

"Good. I'm starved. Do you mind if we eat in… our rooms?" It was to say "our." Yuffie wasn't used to being a part of anything but AVALANCHE, much less a marriage.

"Not at all."

When their food arrived, Yuffie sat on the cushions with Tseng, at the temporary table prepared by the servants. The mapo doufo smelled spicy and delicious, and Yuffie tried not to dive in like she usually did. She was aware of Tseng watching her, so she tried to thank the serving boy and let him leave before plunging in headfirst.

"Thanks, Shiro," Yuffie said. "You can go."

Yuffie picked up her chopsticks and then proceeded to drop them as Tseng whipped a sleek gun out of his kimono and pointed it at Shiro's head. The blood fled from the young serving boy's face as Tseng grabbed Shiro's arm with his free hand, the one not currently wielding a deadly weapon.

Yuffie's eyes widened to Da Chao proportions, and Tseng said, "Tell me what's been done to the food."

It was then that Yuffie noticed several things in quick succession. Shiro's hands trembled visibly at his sides. She spied sweat on his brow, strange in the cool evening air circulating from the windows and the relative ease of his task.

"Does the meal displease you, my lady?" he asked, staring at Yuffie beseechingly.

Yuffie looked at the once-delicious meal, sickened, coming to the realization that from now on, she was going to have to be more on her guard than ever. This made twice in one week. "Shiro," she said, her voice much calmer than she felt, "tell the emperor what you know or this day's going to end badly for you."

A bead of sweat dripped off the end of Shiro's nose. He winced as Tseng pinched his arm. "What did you put in the food?"

"I didn't put anything in the food," he said, his voice quivering with fear. "I might've seen..." He trailed off here, his throat seemingly too dry to make noise. Tseng shook him a little. "I might've seen the cook put something in it," he said hoarsely.

"_Which_ cook, Shiro? Be more specific," Yuffie said, losing her patience. She was livid that this was happening, and in her own wait-staff. The few attendants serving the Kisaragi family were well paid, with good benefits. This was a betrayal.

"The head cook," he gasped as Tseng twisted his arm.

"Guards!" Yuffie shouted. They clamored behind the door, bursting in a short second after her call.

"My lady!" the one named Souta barked.

"Please take Shiro for questioning. And the head cook as well. My food's been tampered with, and I want to know who did it."

To her surprise, Tseng spoke first after they dragged Shiro out. "If you're still hungry, I suggest we step out until we find replacements for your staff."

"I guess I need to expect death around every corner, then," she said, dejected. Her own people, trying to kill her. She had been prepared for hostilities, but to put a familiar face to the continued attempts on her life saddened her and made her nervous.

"You will become accustomed to it."

_Great._

She sighed. "I know a lady who owns a restaurant not too far from here."

"She's someone you can trust?" he asked, leading the way out the door.

"She's an old friend."

The Jade Dragon was located on the fringes of the upper class area of downtown. It was a favorite setting for romantic gesture, featuring at least one proposal per week. Sometimes minor celebrities ate there when they wanted discreet servers and a fine dinner. Many an opportunistic business man had taken their clients to the Jade Dragon in order to impress.

When Yuffie entered the front doors—shaped like the mouth of a giant serpent, complete with fangs—the many people eating there began to take notice. Yuffie was fairly certain it wasn't her presence causing the commotion among the diners. Even as a young princess, she'd sneak out and go to all sorts of places around Wutai. People had grown accustomed to her moving among them like one of their own. No, Yuffie suspected the commotion was over her new husband.

Her two guards tensed at the obvious attention as people kneeling at tables began whispering to each other, their mouths moving indistinctly in the low candlelight. After almost having Poison a la King for dinner, she took some comfort in the throwing stars tucked into her kimono and the materia slotted into the discreet bracelet on her left wrist. Tseng helped too, standing close at her side.

He seemed to be taking the attention well. If nothing else, she appreciated that. He did not outwardly react as people's attention shifted, and Yuffie tried not to do so as well. Being Empress of Wutai really added a new, somewhat scary dimension to going out in public.

A hostess appeared from somewhere in the back, and when her eyes landed on Yuffie and Tseng, they widened. She scrambled to grab menus from her stand and bow at the same time. "It is an honor to serve you tonight, my Empress."

Yuffie cleared her throat. She wasn't sure if she would ever get used to the constant formality. "Can you tell Daiyu Yuffie—I mean, the Empress—is here to see her?"

The young hostess scurried away, up the stairs to the second level of the restaurant. To the left side of the house, a sculpture of Leviathan's head poured water from the second story to a small pool below. Koi darted ghostlike under the water. In a few moments, a woman descended the stairs next to the waterfall. Her dark hair spilled from a loose topknot, almost blending with the blue-on-black diamond pattern of her kimono. Yuffie found herself as usual struck by Daiyu's beauty.

Daiyu's gaze met Yuffie's. She had the angular eyes of the Wuteng, but they were pale blue instead of dark brown or black. Yuffie wondered, for the five hundredth time, at how Daiyu was still single. But she knew the real reason. Daiyu wanted no one to own her. She would not risk her personal freedom and her own success for the sake of any relationship.

"Your highnesses," Daiyu said, with a voice like bells and running water, "I am honored to serve you this evening." She bowed, her long sleeves trailing the carpet.

"Daiyu," Yuffie said, and she couldn't help a genuine smile. "It's been a while."

"It has, my lady," Daiyu replied, rising gracefully. "I am sorry to hear about your father."

Yuffie looked around at their interested audience and made a decision. "Can we take this somewhere private?"

"Of course. This way, your highnesses."

She led them upstairs and past the more private area of the establishment, to where a screen covered one part of the wall. Behind that was a door and behind that door was her office. Yuffie bade her guards wait outside the door.

Once they were inside, she enveloped Yuffie in a brief hug. Tseng did not even twitch at the sudden movement, but his eyes did not leave them.

"Daiyu," she sighed. "I'm so glad to see you."

"You have yet to introduce me to your husband, my lady," said Daiyu gently, gesturing toward Tseng. She bowed. "It is an honor to meet you."

To Yuffie's surprise, Tseng bowed back. "It's my pleasure," he said.

Daiyu seemed to think for a moment, her red lips pursing. Finally, she said, "May I have permission to speak freely, my lady?"

Yuffie hesitated, then nodded. She knew that the woman was usually the picture of decorum.

Folding her hands into her sleeves, Daiyu pinned him with her intense stare and asked, "Will you protect my lady above all others?"

"I will," he said without missing a beat.

"How can I know I have your word?"

He paused, and Yuffie felt the silence weigh on them. "It's my duty," he replied.

"Will that be enough? If you fail in your duty, how will you be punished?" she asked, eyes flinty.

"So, Daiyu!" Yuffie interjected, in order to break the staring contest that had begun between the other two. "I have something I need to talk to you about."

"Yes, my lady?" she said, her voice heavy with deference.

"This doesn't go beyond your office, cross your heart and hope to die–"

"I would sooner die than betray the Kisaragi family," Daiyu said fiercely.

Yuffie quieted. "I know. That's why I'm telling you this. I think someone tried to poison me tonight."

Daiyu's eyes narrowed, and her beauty took on a dangerous air. Her hands shifted in her sleeves. "You will eat here tonight, and in future, I will supply your kitchen staff."

Yuffie brightened, clapping her hands together. "Thank you so much!"

She smiled. "Anything for the Kisaragis, my lady. You have treated my family with the utmost respect and care throughout these long years. Your mother..." Daiyu's mouth twisted in a rare display of real emotion. "Your mother was very dear to me."

Her stomach growled, again. When was the last time she'd eaten?

"You must be famished, my lady. Come, come, let me serve you the best way I know how, with a hearty meal."

She unlocked the door and swept out of the office with them trailing behind, leading them to a secluded alcove. She took their orders personally, then left to prepare the meal with her own hands.

After a beat of silence in which Tseng stared at her, he opened his mouth and spoke. "Might I ask what your relationship is with Daiyu?" She thought his speculative frown might be curiosity.

She was momentarily surprised at his open question. "Yeah, you're probably bursting with questions. Okay, well, maybe not. You're never really bursting with anything, that I've noticed." Yuffie closed her mouth and attempted to get a handle on the nervous chattering.

He cleared his throat, arranged his chopsticks so that they were even straighter than they had been before, a feat which amazed Yuffie, and then asked, "How do you know her?"

"My mother," Yuffie started, then stopped when her eyes alighted on something in a far corner of the restaurant. By the waterfall, seemingly-engaged in a meal of steamed rice and meaty dumplings, sat a very familiar bald man. His leather gloves had been laid aside, resting neatly next to his chopsticks, the fingers curled slightly under as if tensed for action. The sunglasses on his nose were out of place in the dim restaurant. "Were you going to tell me you had Rude tailing us?"

He did not sit the way normal people did. Even now, Yuffie's foot bounced under the table, and she idly toyed with the corner of her napkin. Tseng, however rested one hand lightly on the table. The other vanished under the tablecloth. He was mostly still, but his eyes moved constantly around the room, rarely settling on her face for very long before jumping elsewhere. "I didn't think it was necessary."

"You don't think my guards, and me for that matter, are enough? Speaking of guards, who's watching Rufus?"

"There are members of the Turks outside of the ones AVALANCHE has battled," he supplied, ignoring her first question.

"Oh, wow, Rufus sent me his best," she said, struggling to keep her eyelashes in check. They so desperately needed to be batted.

"Rufus wishes to help me protect my young bride," Tseng said, and his voice curled and wrapped around the word "bride." She blinked and looked away from the sharp edge of his gaze.

"Whatever. If it makes you feel better to have baldy sliming around, then fine."

After a moment of silence, she groped for a way to salvage the conversation. "My mother found Daiyu in a brothel," she said, voice pitched low. It would not do for the general public to know of Daiyu's past, not after all she had done to earn her life as a successful business owner. "My mother used to disguise herself and sneak off into the city during the early days of her marriage to my dad. She was seventeen and Daiyu was fourteen when they met in one of the skeezier parts of the city."

Yuffie fiddled with the napkin in her lap, nervous. She had never told anyone about Daiyu—either folks knew about her, or they didn't.

"The way Daiyu tells it, Mom bought her freedom a few weeks later and took her back to the palace, where she put Daiyu to work in the kitchens as a maid. She was the best cook the palace ever had, and when she turned twenty, she set out to make a life for herself. After working in the palace, she opened the Jade Dragon and it turned into what you see today."

Tseng said, "It sounds like your mother was an interesting woman." His eyes seemed luminous in the light from the floating candle in the table's centerpiece.

"I didn't know her very well, but people tell me amazing stories," she said. She did not mention how that had been an obstacle for her as a teenager, living up to the phantom presence of her mother in Wutai. "Anyway, Daiyu was always around when I was little. She was a good friend of my mom's before she got sick."

"Is she dangerous?" he asked unexpectedly.

Yuffie's looked into Tseng's eyes. She took her napkin from her lap and placed it back on the table, then took a drink of water, still scanning the restaurant for anyone approaching. No one seemed to be paying attention to them, and they were out of hearing range anyway.

"Daiyu… knows people. She has connections that she's made… there's a reason the Jade Dragon stays untouched even though it's on the edge of some bad parts of town. I don't really know the extent of her contacts, though."

"Ah," Tseng said. "I see."

Daiyu had sworn she was not involved in any illegal activities when questioned by Gorki and, at a few points, Godo, but she did not readily reveal who supplied the intimidating bodyguards to her restaurant or the funding which jumpstarted her business in the first place. Yuffie suspected she had several ties in old-money families from back when she served in the brothels. Though Daiyu had never confirmed these notions, she had, once, delivered a secretive smile when Yuffie asked if she ever heard from any of her old clients or friends.

The meal was delicious, and Yuffie left feeling full and delighted. She stayed that way the entire car ride back to the palace. Upon returning to her rooms with Tseng, though, she remembered the possible attempt on her life, and her mood dampened a bit. Then she saw her giant, neatly-made bed, and barely restrained a groan.

A long night stretched out before her imagination.

She yawned and stretched. "Tseng, uh, this is gonna seem a little weird but could you, uh... could you get this thing off me?"

She turned her back to him, feeling oddly vulnerable as she displayed the complicated knot of her obi. She hastened to explain herself. "It's not meant for anyone but the groom to untie."

"Of course," Tseng murmured, and she felt him tugging at the tie. After a few moments of silence, in which she grew more and more tense with nothing but the enormous bed within her view, Tseng finally managed to free her from the knot.

"You can, ah, you can go to the bathroom and change if you like. But you have to spend the night here. The walls have eyes and ears, and if people don't see you staying here, they're going to talk. They don't have to know we're not actually enjoying our wedding night." She tamped down her embarrassment. _I am an adult._ "The staff put your clothes in the wardrobe earlier."

After he had disappeared into the bathroom, Yuffie scrambled out of her heavy wedding clothes, tossing them into the basket in her expansive closet for the maids to retrieve in the morning Then she high-tailed it into bed. She had just settled into the covers and rolled her face away from the door when Tseng reentered. She heard the rustle of cloth and felt the mattress dip.

"Good night," she muttered, turning the knob on the bedside lamp.

"Good night, Empress," he said, his voice lacking any sort of sarcasm. Yuffie winced in the darkness.

"You can just... call me Yuffie when no one else is here."

"All right."

Then she remembered something, and she sat ramrod straight in the bed. "Crap."

A subtle movement alerted her to Tseng beside her. His light clicked on, and she only just suppressed a yelp when he drew a gun from under his pillow. His eyes were locked on her.

"Uh," she croaked. "It's okay, I—sorry, I was just remembering something. You can put that gun away."

_Holy Leviathan, do _not _startle the Turk, Yuffie. Duh. _Slow, careful not to startle him, she planted her bare feet on the floor and crouched beside the bed in order to better reach between the mattresses. A dagger in an elaborate case followed her hand out, and she sat on the bed, withdrawing it from its sheath.

The light flashed off the blade as Tseng asked, "What are you doing?"

She wondered at his ability to sound so intimidating with such a silky voice. "I don't know how much you know about Wuteng culture, being out of the loop and all, but—"

"I know enough." He was not in the mood for games.

"Yeah, yeah, you know enough." In her anxiety, she cut the knife through the air with each gesture. "The point is: I don't think you know about consummation of marriages."

After she said it, she gathered her courage in a few short moments and finally laid eyes on him. His face looked tighter than usual, his mouth a slash in his skin. "Go on."

She took a deep breath, her lungs hurting with the effort. "Okay, so, here's the thing. They're going to look for evidence tomorrow that we consummated this marriage."

"Who is 'they'?" He sounded none too pleased.

"The head maid, most likely."

"What constitutes 'evidence'?"

"Blood. We're supposed to bump uglies, and I'm supposed to bleed like a little virgin bride, and then our marriage is air-tight. No one can contest it. I mean, they can kill you or me, ha ha, everyone knows that yippee hooray, _but_ at least no one can contest it once I do... _this_."

On the last word, Yuffie pulled back the coverlet, cranked her sleeve very far up her arm, and slashed the underside of it with her dagger. Careful not to cut too deep, she let herself bleed on the sheets between them.

"Ah, shit," she said, again. "I mean crap. Rulers of Wutai shouldn't say shit, but I didn't _pack any goddamn bandages for—_"

"Be quiet." His voice dripped authority and disgust as he pried the knife from her quivering grip and squeezed her arm hard. "And _be still_."

_Oh, he's mad. Hey, I'm the one bleeding here._

He set her dagger aside, on the bedside table, and cupped one hand under her arm to keep it from dripping on the covers. "Sorry," she said, and tears clawed at her eyes. It felt like years ago that her father had died before her, even though it had only been a few hours. She blinked and stared at the light beyond his shoulder as he ripped his sleeping robes into strips then laid the pieces on the bed.

"Do not ever," he said, his voice like Da Chao's fires, "keep information from me like this. I can't help you if I don't know what idiocy you're planning."

"You know, I'm not _helpless_," Yuffie said as she tried not to blub all over him. He held her arm in a firm grip as he bound it with the cloth strips.

He did not answer, and when her eyes darted to his face, his gaze collided with hers like a hammer. He was blazing mad, and she barely succeeded in not flinching.

"If you wish to stay alive long enough to help this _pit_ of a country, then you will not keep your plans from me in the future. Now, hide that knife again and wash your hands."

"What about your torn robes? Will they think we just got a little too frisky?

"I'll take care of that. Now do what I said, and let this be a lesson to you."

Feeling like a put-out child, she slipped the dagger in its previous hiding place and headed for the bathroom. "Fine." _At least I don't have to sleep in the wet spot._

When she returned and slipped into bed, he had turned the light out and was lying with his back to her. Yuffie did not know how long she stared into the darkness around them, the shadowy silhouettes of the furniture in her lavish room, the slight moonlight from the gauzy curtains at the window. Eventually, after she had long given up on forcing herself, she drifted off to sleep still acutely aware of his presence at her back.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Just a quick check-in to thank you all for your reviews and your patience with my typos! My betas are fabulous, but I'm a compulsive last-minute-editor (probably comes from writing poetry), so sometimes things slip through the cracks.

.

Yuffie woke to someone, most likely Tseng, shaking her shoulder. She wondered at the politeness of his touch compared to the rage of the night before.

He loomed over her. Uncomfortable with this position already, Yuffie sat up and looked into his black eyes. He said, "Your father's funeral is in two hours. Would you like your handmaid's assistance dressing?"

She looked to the doorway, where her personal maid waited patiently for instructions. "No thanks, Asuka. Becoming queen didn't make me incapable of dressing myself."

She swung her feet over the edge of the bed as the maid departed and idly took note of the open collar of Tseng's robes. He shuffled through the clothes in the wardrobe, and sometimes a sneaky bit of skin peeked at her. Besides a few silvery scars, Tseng had a complexion Yuffie found herself jealous of. She wondered for a moment what it would be like to touch his skin, wondered how many women had followed the sparse trail of hair down his chest.

She hastily averted her eyes before a blush could overtake her.

This whole situation was... awkward. She tried to picture herself waking up to Reeve or even Vincent this way—well, Vincent. That was a little more familiar. But Reeve? At least Reeve would be trying to make conversation.

"Did you sleep okay?" she asked in an attempt to break the silence. Tseng looked over his shoulder at her. He seemed no closer to his goal of locating an ensemble. She tried for light humor. "Heh, the tailors went kind of crazy after they got your measurements for the wedding. We're going to have to wear this sort of crap until I can ease people into my style of dress."

"You plan to change it?" he asked.

"That stuff's not comfortable _or_ good for defending yourself. It's like wearing ten bags all layered over top of each other."

"You foresee an occasion in which you will need to defend yourself? Even with such capable guards surrounding you?"

Yuffie could not decide whether the word capable had been infused with any sort of sarcasm. She frowned for a moment, then got out of the bed and put her feet on the cold stone floor, shivering. Voice smooth as silk, Tseng did not sound as though he had slept. Not like Yuffie—she felt groggy, waterlogged, as though she could hibernate for a thousand years.

"I just like my way better. People in Wutai want their ruler to be a decoration, but I want to be useful. Besides, it's a new age! Who says I can't wear short-shorts or snazzy white pantsuits if I want? Rufus does it, and everyone still takes _him_ seriously."

She had reached the wardrobe now as well and stood shoulder to shoulder with him. The maids had apparently placed her funeral kimono in the wardrobe without her knowledge. It was at the front of the clothes, a set of all-white robes except for the forest green dragons curling over the collar and cuffs.

"Or armguards and tube tops?" Tseng commented, voice flippant and almost... humorous.

"So you _do_ have a personality!" she exclaimed, as if discovering some long lost treasure. A half-second too late to stop herself, she felt like cutting out her own tongue with the Conformer.

He looked at her from the corner of his eye, pulling a black robe from a hanger. "At times."

Nonplussed, Yuffie felt herself slip into babble mode. "My dad used to complain about how itchy these things are, but he never did anything about it. And my mom, she always looked the part in this stuff. She was really beautiful with the classic long black hair and big eyes. I just look like a little boy who fell into a lady's closet sometimes. Maybe I should grow out my hair. You, though, you look pretty damn good in this stuff. With that hair and all, anyone would think you were born royalty."

Horrified at herself, she stopped abruptly. It seemed that, no matter how much she had managed to temper herself in public, being alone and nervous with Tseng had her reverting to old behaviors.

Tseng stepped behind her, and she kept her head turned as he changed clothes. He could, theoretically, change in the bathroom but the sheer number of layers made moving the garments and keeping them unwrinkled a chore. _Note to self, get a screen in this room. Somehow. Without people talking._

"Thank you," he said, voice low. She rather liked his voice—soothing, lacking any sort of assumptions. It reminded her a little of Vincent, minus the doom-and-gloom-and-oh-Lucrecia aspect. He startled her by continuing. "Keep your hair. It suits you."

"Really? I didn't think this haircut would suit anyone."

"You are not a traditional ruler, so you shouldn't look traditional. The short cut speaks of your personality."

She blinked at the very personal compliment, surprised. "Hey, uh, I'm... sorry for last night."

No reply met her ears, and she sighed as quietly as she could.

"Let's not talk about it," he said, stepping in front of her. She managed to contain her jump at the suddenness of his appearance. He could have been a ninja, had he been afforded the training.

_Okay..._ But his words from the night before echoed in her ears as she tried some new maneuvers with her clothing and some new additions. _If you wish to stay alive long enough to help this pit of a country, then you will not keep your plans from me in the future._

The question, to Yuffie, was whether or not could she follow that order and still keep herself safe.

"My turn," she said. He showed her his back, and she took the few moments of silence to scramble sloppily into her robes. "Um, would you mind helping me with this?"

He made quick work of her outfit, his darting hand straightening her collar with a quick, professional tug, tightening her obi, fitting the outfit to her body. He stepped back when he finished his work, tilting his head just a bit, eyes narrowed in study.

"What are you concealing underneath the kimono?" he finally said.

"Is it obvious?"

"Only I will notice."

"It's shorts and a tank top in case I need to move quickly," she admitted. "I hope I don't have to, but…"

"Good." She could not tear herself away from the hint of approval in his gaze until he blinked and severed their link.

"Well, I guess we better get a move on, then," she said uncertainly.

"Lead the way."

.

More people showed up to her father's funeral than Yuffie would have expected. Despite his failings, despite his inability to revive his country in the wake of the war and his wife's untimely death, many in Wutai had respected Lord Godo Kisaragi. Yuffie knew a lot of folks viewed of her father as a tragic figure—after all, the loss of a woman such as the late Lady Kisaragi must have shattered the man. Who wouldn't sympathize with that sort of grief?

At Lady Kasumi Kisaragi's funeral, so many people attended that they almost could not keep the crowd under control for the hysterical grieving. Her mother had been a beloved figure. Her father's funeral was full but not nearly to that extent.

Crowds almost overflowed the banks of the river, and law enforcement had to prevent people from disturbing the procession by toppling into the water below. Everyone wanted a last glimpse of their former ruler—either out of a sense of morbidity or to pay last respects. Yuffie occupied a reserved and guarded section on the ceremonial dock, and she watched as her attendants lowered her father's boat into the water with reverence and care.

The funeral singer, shamisen in hand, stepped forward when the boat touched the surface of the river. Ropes kept it from drifting away in the currents. As the attendants disengaged the restraints, the singer opened her mouth and let a mournful song spill from her lips. She sang of long battles, of long winters, of the great river of the afterlife.

As she sang, onlookers took turns releasing tiny paper boats into the water. After a few seconds, the river snagged the little boat housing Godo's body and pulled it downstream. A procession of hundreds, thousands of tiny boats followed the vessel—some with flowers, some colored brightly, some with words of peace inscribed upon them, all lovingly made.

Yuffie herself had no paper boat. Instead, the boat which housed her father's corpse served as her offering. She had it carved at his request a month ago, when it became clear his health was declining exponentially. The colors she had painted herself, splashing the sides with bright greens and yellows and reds. She had carved her name, her mother's name, and her father's name into a triangular shape beside a slithering, twisting depiction of Leviathan adorning the entire left side.

The singer hit a plaintive, heart-wrenching note as Yuffie felt something soft under her right hand and a pressure at her side.

"Yuffie," her feline friend rumbled. She had long ago schooled herself to seem indifferent to Nanaki's features actually making _words_ come out of his mouth. But she would never, she thought, stop wondering at it. For every once in a great while, the surrealism of his existence and his actions would strike her, and she would take a firm grip on her awe and shove it down deep.

"Hey, Nan," she said under her breath. She knew his ultra-sensitive hearing would pick up on her voice where the people around her wouldn't.

She tasted the warm smell of his fur in the chilly air, the moisture from the river as he said, "I am sorry for your loss."

Then she felt the burn in her eyes. Nanaki, whose father stood as a statue forever, whose mother was long dead, whose surrogate parent had departed their world, knew her pain well. In his common, oft-uttered words, she heard real empathy and tried not to cry. She squeezed his mane between her fingertips.

As the river took her father, villages along the way would add their own offerings to the trail following him until he reached the sea. If he hit turbulence or other issues, tradition dictated that any person who saw a funeral barge floundering in the river was to help the boat along or else face the wrath of the gods for disrespecting the dead. Her people still followed this custom with diligence.

A funeral home built centuries ago and still managed to this day stood at the end of the river, where the waters met the sea. When her father's boat reached the end, they would set it on fire to allow his ashes to meet Leviathan.

When her father's boat finally vanished from sight and the last notes of the song died off, she let a few tears roll down her cheeks. Despite the evidence of her grief, Yuffie's face expression was fierce. The citizens of Wutai gazed upon her at the river bank, watched as a powerful wind swept through her hair and the mane of the great red beast at her side. Leviathan's presence was thunderous in their spirits.

They shivered, unable to identify the feeling.

.

Back in the gardens of the palace, cocooned in the aroma of wilting autumn flowers, Yuffie did not cry.

Her face stayed dry as Corel, but her mind's eye swirled with images of her father's lips slipping their last breath and her mother's face in her funeral vessel, decorated with sakura petals. She did not see the fat, brilliant koi in the pond at her feet. She did not feel the worn grain of the wooden bench beneath her. She only saw the pictures in her head.

Her eyes played blindly over the shadows of fish darting in the pond. She didn't notice Reeve's presence until he put his hand on her back.

Only Reeve saying, "This seat taken?" kept her from throwing him over her shoulder into the pond.

She had to relax each muscle in her body one at a time. "Don't ever sneak up on me like that."

"Sorry," he said, sidling up next to her. "The guards are watching your back, though. They're at every entrance to the gardens."

"I know," she said, voice low and trust in her guards even lower. If should could slip their grasp at the age of eight, she wasn't sure how much she could depend on them for protection against assassins.

Then again, she _had_ been a pretty awesome eight-year-old. And she was Godo Kisaragi's daughter.

"Say, where's Tseng?" Reeve asked. A thread of his aftershave stole under the scent of dying flowers.

She shrugged. "Pretty sure he's back in my, uh—our rooms."

Reeve nodded. She saw the movement from the corner of her eye. Her gaze did not waver from the koi pond. After a pause, she felt Reeve move a bit, and he spoke. "I'm so sorry."

"For what?"

"About your father," he said, sounding slightly puzzled. "That you have to marry a man you don't even know. I wish—"

"You can't always be my hero, Reeve." She stood and slipped out of her geta. Bending at the waist, she peeled off her crisp white socks and tossed them aside, sifting her feet into the mud. She could feel the chill of autumn in her toes now, the snap of cold in her nostrils.

When she looked over her shoulder, she found him staring at her thoughtfully. Then, to her surprise, he bent and unlaced one shoe, then the other. His socks followed, leaving him barefoot. Three steps took him to her side, and the mud around her feet shifted as he dug his toes in.

He tried again. "I wish it could've been me."

Yuffie knew that Reeve had a bit of a crush on her. She could see his appeal. He had that "little boy up to something" smile and the exotic Wuteng twist to his features, as well as power and saving-the-world status. But Yuffie valued his friendship and their working relationship too much to put them in jeopardy, so she had never acted on any attraction she might have felt for him.

"I'm glad it's not."

"Is it because I snore too loud?"

The touch of his hand brought it all crashing down. The tears at the funeral had done nothing to relieve the grief crushing her inside. She bowed her head and choked out a sob. Hearing her distress, Reeve turned and enveloped her in his arms. The customized scent of his aftershave—which she associated with long nights in the office—hit her full force. Yuffie let loose in earnest, crying all over his expensive suit.

"That's right," he said, somewhat awkwardly, "let it all out."

They must have stood like that for a good five minutes, with Reeve stroking her back and muttering gentle, reassuring nonsense into her ears. When she tipped her head back, he was staring at her with unadulterated affection.

She wiped her nose on her tailored kimono sleeve. "Sorry about that." Her throat felt thick with crying, and her feet were stiff from the cold mud.

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

She stepped back, suddenly very aware of the fact that she had just been married and anyone could be watching. At least they had the garden walls to shield them. Recognizing the end of the moment, Reeve let her move.

"Hey, Reeve—" she began.

He held up a hand. "I'll see you at dinner?"

She smiled, even though she felt like doing anything but smiling. "Thanks."

He collected his discarded shoes and socks, leaving her with the silence of the gardens.

.

When Yuffie entered her room, Tseng had something black and bulky in hand. It emitted a crackling noise as he swept it back and forth over the surrounding objects.

"Uh..." she said, possessing enough sense to ease the door shut behind her. "What are you doing?"

Tseng glanced at her briefly, not missing a beat in his strange process. "Sweeping the room for bugs."

"And... where did you get that thing?"

"Reno brought it."

"Oh." After a few long moments of watching him thoroughly scan the wardrobe, all the clothing inside, and her vanity table, she cleared her throat and sat on the bed. "So... are you finding anything?"

"There's something here, I'm almost certain." He paused, tilting his head a fraction as the crackling sharpened to a high-pitched whine. He lifted an eyebrow and reswept the offending area, following the increase in pitch and sound to the source. "Ah."

"Ah?" She leaned over, interested. "What does 'ah' mean?"

He opened a drawer on her vanity table and began removing the contents with methodical precision. She winced when he glanced briefly at a pair of balled up fishnets and some cheap-looking jewelry (you never knew when you would need a quick disguise!) without batting an eye. In the past, Yuffie's answer to the question, "What kind of superpower would you have, if you could have any?" was always "The power of no motion sickness." Now she thought it had changed to mind-reading. It would make her new life much, much easier.

Tseng paused, examining a necklace with beads the size of ripe grapes. He picked through bauble after bauble in turn, his nimble fingers questing for something. As he lit on one bead that looked just like any of the other red beads, he made a small sound in the back of his throat, and then he snapped the string on the costume jewelry. She almost yelped a protest, but he shot a quelling glance in her direction.

Tseng glanced over her vanity table and removed a ball-point pen from a stack of papers there. He clicked the point out of the end and fiddled with the bead as Yuffie watched, fascinated. After a few moments of intense concentration, the bead fell apart in his hands. She moved closer to get a better look.

"What _is_ that?"

"It's a bug," Tseng said. He tilted his hand to reveal the tiny wires inside the halves of the bead. Yuffie couldn't make heads or tails of it, but Tseng seemed sure. "Someone put a listening device in your room."

"How long...?"

"No telling," he said. "When did you get this necklace?"

"Uh... I don't know. A couple years ago, maybe? I wore it to sneak into the city without being recognized a few times. Along with those fishnets."

He lifted his eyebrows at the tights, then dropped the bead on the floor and crushed it under his sandal. He ground them into the wood and bent over and scooped the pieces up, dropping them into the wastebasket by the wardrobe.

Tseng resumed his sweep of the room as Yuffie picked up the broken necklace, careful not to let the beads scatter from the ends of the snapped string. She examined it, turning with a frown to Tseng. "This isn't my necklace."

"Hm?"

"This isn't the same one. It has a different clasp."

"You're sure?" he said, eyes narrowed in calculation. She nodded. "Someone replaced it, then. Probably while the entire palace attended the funeral."

"You don't think they did before that?"

"It's possible, but there is more reason now than ever to listen in on your plans."

Yuffie sighed. "I just can't catch a break."

Tseng flipped a switch on his black device, and it stopped crackling. "If there were anything else, I would have found it."

"I don't know who they think they're trying to fool. I married a Turk," she muttered.

Yuffie opened her wardrobe and wished really hard for shorts and a tank top to appear on the racks. When they didn't, she ran a hand through her hair, sighed, and turned around prepared to tell Tseng it was time for dinner. She caught him staring at her, his arms stationary at his sides, his gaze thoughtful.

She blinked. "Uh... yes?"

"I believe it's time for dinner," he said finally.

.

Yuffie had expected all of AVALANCHE and all of the Turks to be there, yes, but upon entering the sumptuous dining room and seeing the two groups plus Rufus kneeling at the huge table, she couldn't help but stop in the doorway and stare. She did so until Barret waved her over to sit in the empty place next to him. Tseng sat to her right, and to his right was Reno, then Rufus, and Elena.

She wondered who would speak first, then Reno and Cid opened their mouths at the same time.

Reno said, "You should wear that getup around the office, Boss."

Cid said, "No one said the goddamn Turks would be here."

Shera frowned with disapproval at Cid, and Yuffie flicked a glance at Tseng. "Thank you, Reno," he said. Judging by his tone and the way his fist clenched on his knee, he wasn't very thankful.

Servers entered carrying platters heaping with food. Wonderful smells wafted from them, and Yuffie's mouth watered, even despite the stress she had faced today. Her stomach rumbled.

"This looks great," she said, and dug in. The others were not far behind.

Her hand brushed Tseng's as they reached for the same dish, and she tried very hard to conceal her reactionary flinch. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, then gestured for her to go first.

"Thanks," she murmured.

"Of course, Empress," he said, and she winced. Nevertheless, the spareribs and black beans called to her, and she sighed with anticipation as she lifted a bite. She could see Tifa further down the table ladling saucy noodles onto her own plate, and Cloud looked rather engrossed in his shrimp rolls. Vincent, for his part, served himself food and tried at least a few bites. After years of knowing him, she was grateful for his token effort to eat even though he never seemed to consume much. Now that the food had arrived, the Turks seemed involved as well.

A few minutes passed in which everyone satiated nature's call for sustenance, until Yuffie looked up from her plate and into Rufus's eyes. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, then said in a low but clear voice, "My sincerest condolences for your loss, Lady Kisaragi. Thank you for allowing us to remain in your beautiful home for the duration of the services."

Startled, Yuffie made very sure not to let Rufus know that she was, in fact, touched almost by his sincerity. In her head, she identified Rufus by the words _slimy_, _cunning_, and_ beautiful_, but sometimes he truly surprised her. This was one of those moments—the other being when she discovered through some well-placed snooping that he was the primary source of funding for most of the WRO's ventures.

"Thank you, Rufus." She gave him a close-lipped smile.

"And congratulations on your marriage," he continued, "even though it is surrounded by such tragedy."

"I'm sure you two'll be really happy together." Reno smirked and slurped his soup in clear appreciation of the dish. Elena cocked her elbow in preparation, Cid and Barret looked murderous, and Vincent and Cloud stared unnervingly.

Luckily, Tifa intervened. "I'm sure," she said, pointedly shooting Reno the kind of look only someone meant to be a mother knows, "that Yuffie and Tseng will be very successful."

"I'm sure they will," Reeve agreed, abandoning his attempts at chopsticks in favor of the more Easterner-friendly forks the maids had had the foresight to set out for them. Clearly attempting to change the subject, he met Yuffie's gaze. "So, Yuffie, how has your evening been?"

She smiled cheerily at him, lacing her chopsticks with low mein. "Oh, fine. Besides my dad's funeral being a huge success, Tseng found a bug in my room."

As one, all eyes turned to her.

"Where did you find it?" Nanaki asked, pausing in lapping up his meaty soup. To his credit, Nanaki was always a very graceful eater. Sometimes Yuffie thought he outdid even her royal table manners. _Actually, Nanaki's manners pretty much outdo me all the time._

Yuffie turned to Tseng. "You can tell them if you want."

His chopsticks, which he wielded like a professional, came to rest on the side of his plate. He finished chewing, swallowed, and nodded. "It seems, at some point undetermined, persons unknown placed a necklace in Lady Kisaragi's room which contained a listening device."

"You gotta get them guards workin' overtime," Barret rumbled. "Or get better guards." His brows were severe as he looked down on her. Unable to resist the comfort of physical contact, Yuffie patted his enormous thigh.

"Is there anything we can do?" Cloud asked in his quiet voice. Yuffie enjoyed the way Cloud's voice invariably commanded people's attention. He said so little that when he did speak, people tuned in.

Yuffie shook her head. "I don't think so. Tseng?"

"No," he said shortly. "The sooner Lady Kisaragi demonstrates that she is in full control of her country and confident in her abilities, the sooner these sorts of attempts will die off."

That seemed to satisfy them. Yuffie was glad. She loved AVALANCHE, but they had their own lives to get back to, and she didn't want to be a burden on any of them. Her father had had help, yes, but he had run the country by his own hands, not with eight different advisers who all meant well but had their own methods and ways of doing things. The minute she made a decision one of them didn't like, it would be a disaster. She already had enough to contend with concerning the Mighty Gods. She didn't need Cid cursing out every board meeting or Barret standing guard at her door when she and Tseng slept in their bed.

Yuffie tried not to grimace. _Their _bed.

"I'll just have to tell my so-far useless guards to keep a better watch on things."

Tseng and Rufus looked at each other, then away in what seemed a very natural motion. However, Yuffie felt certain they had communicated in some way.

As dinner progressed, the tension eased, and the Turks were even making conversation with some of AVALANCHE. Yuffie was actually kind of glad they were there. Her friends seemed to be distracted from her with the presence of Rufus and his guards.

Toward the end of the courses, Yuffie found Vincent staring at her. He tipped his head to motion toward the door, and Yuffie had half-risen before she remembered she should probably at least acknowledge Tseng. He looked expectantly at her when their eyes met. "I'll be right back."

She felt his eyes on her as she stepped into the hallway with Vincent gliding along behind her. The doors to the dining hall shut behind them, and she checked to make sure no one was listening before they began their conversation. "Hey, Vince. What's up?"

He towered over her in his reds and blacks, his ghostly pale skin luminous in the dim hallway. "Are you sure about this marriage?"

Despite her mental resolve to remain calm, she bristled. "Don't you think you should've said something about this marriage two days ago?"

Vincent crossed his arms, his red eyes glowing in the dimly lit hall. She had almost forgotten they did that. Almost.

"I don't think you know what you're doing," he said.

That just cranked her up further. "Ex_cuse_ me? Where was all this when it would've freaking mattered?" she hissed. Her gestures were getting big and jagged with anger.

"I mean, I don't think you know what you're doing marrying a Turk."

She narrowed her eyes so much she almost could not see him. "You know what, I don't need this. I'm going to go back inside to my wonderful husband and finish my dessert, thanks."

As she pivoted, he grabbed her arm and held her in place, gentle but firm. "Yuffie, wait." And this time, he sounded vulnerable. There it was.

"What's the _real_ reason you want to talk to me, Vincent?" she demanded, pinning him with her eyes. "Yeah, sure, you may want to warn me about marrying a Turk, but there's more to it than that."

After a long, long moment, in which he stared without blinking over her shoulder, his eyes met hers, and she realized he looked pained. "I didn't protect you."

Yuffie sagged. "Oh, Vinnie," she whispered. "You big idiot."

"I'm sorry this happened to you," he echoed Reeve's words from earlier.

"I'm sorry too, but it's not all that bad. He's been... agreeable."

Eyes sharp, he put his good hand on her shoulder. "Watch him, Yuffie. Tseng is a Turk, which means he will have his own agenda."

"I know," she said slowly. "I wasn't born yesterday."

He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, surprisingly intimate for Vincent. He almost never touched her or anyone else. When he did, she always got the impression he was afraid they would shatter. "You looked beautiful today."

Tears stung her eyes. "Thanks."

An awkward silence descended upon them, not entirely uncomfortable but borne from not knowing exactly what to say to each other. So Yuffie smiled at him—only it came out more as a weird grimace through the tears. She wiped her face on her sleeve, ignoring the way her makeup smeared on the white gown.

She opened the door and gestured for Vinent to re-enter before her. He went ahead, but Yuffie was suddenly exhausted, by all of it. By the questions, the ceremony. Instead of following Vincent, she closed the door behind him and made a quick decision.

_Maybe if I get a head-start, they won't find me._

Tearing her hair clips out, throwing the expensive combs aside, she let her hair fall around her ears. After that, the outer kimono and her many layers followed, the obi a snake trailing across the elaborate rugs and carpets, until she was down to her simple shorts and a tank top. She followed hallways she'd known since she was old enough to run away on adventures of her own devising.

Yuffie knew a place where they wouldn't find her—at least for a little while. She darted through the hallways until she reached a particular alcove which contained a tall, dark blue vase. Carefully, she pulled the vase forward, revealing a door which she had to crouch to enter. Once inside, she scaled the ladder in the small chamber and came out a trap door on the roof.

Here the sky stretched far and wide above her, disappearing beyond the body of Da Chao in one direction and obscured by trees and rooftops in the other The Pagoda loomed to her right, its shadow cast long by the full moon. She thought of nights from her childhood spent creeping through the shadow of that tower. She thought of her father.

"Dad," she whispered to the sky, to one bright star in particular, "why would anyone want you dead?"

Nothing answered her, not even the roll of Leviathan. The last chirping frogs and insects of summer fell away and left her, alone under the brutal stars.

Yuffie lost track of time. The slight chill in the night air numbed her fingertips and her toes, and now she regretted having shed her ceremonial robes. If she hadn't, she probably wouldn't have been able to scale the palace like a monkey, but now she was starting to get chilly. Her breath clouded the air as she exhaled.

"Your friends are worried about you."

She tried not to tense. She'd known he was approaching—there was no way to get on the roof without making some sort of noise. Well, not unless you were Yuffie, but she'd been doing this for years.

"You come here often?" The well-rehearsed line dropped from her lips without mirth.

Tseng settled next to her, deep folds of his kimono pooling around him and touching one of her crossed knees. "Do you?" he retorted.

She smiled, just a little. "I'm not the only Kisaragi who liked to get away. My mother showed me this place."

"My lady—"

She held up a hand. "I told you to call me Yuffie."

"Yuffie." He handled her name with ease, but somehow the word sounded strange coming from his mouth. "Who poisoned your father?"

"I don't know," she said. "I _damn_ sure wouldn't be sitting here if I did." Her fist clenched, nails scraping her palms.

"Have you given any thought to who it might be?" he murmured. He eyes flicked briefly to a point beyond her shoulder. He knew something.

"I haven't come up with anything, but I'm guessing you have," she said, leaning closer to him. "Tseng. What do you know?"

He shook his head. "I don't know anything yet. But I feel something larger at stake here."

"Something… 'larger'? What're you talking about?"

She couldn't help but look into the shadowy gardens beyond the roof, a shiver sneaking up her spine as he said, "Someone wanted your father dead, and that same someone may have wanted you to become Empress."

"Bet they didn't expect you," she muttered.

He looked up toward the moon, expression thoughtful. "Maybe. Maybe not."

She felt a curious heat behind her blood that she only associated with Aeris's death at the hands of a silver-haired madman and children dying of Geostigma in Wutai. Someone was going to pay.

His gaze was intent on her. Despite the wide open sky above them and the roof sloping away, she felt too close. "In the past three days, two attempts on your life have been made. I suspect that the perpetrators and your father's murderer are one in the same. Do you know of anyone who would want the Kisaragi family dead?"

Yuffie cast her thoughts far and wide, searching her memories and her knowledge of Wutai hard and fast.

"No," she said. "The people of Wutai loved my mother, and they forgave my father because they couldn't imagine losing a wife like Kasumi."

"You can think of no reason why someone might want you and your father dead?" He seemed to be untying the knot on his robes. She eyed him with curiosity.

"I mean, besides the fact that I've never been very popular, for all kinds of different reasons, no, I can't."

He lifted an eyebrow. "I was not aware. Why is it that you're not very popular with the people of Wutai?"

"Tseng," she scoffed, "you don't have to play stupid."

"Excuse me?" He was busy removing his outer robe. She noticed his feet were bare as he shifted.

She rolled her eyes. "You're the leader of the Turks, Tseng. I'm sure you already know a lot about me."

He stopped fiddling with his outer robe and graced her with a very small smile. She pinned him with a glare then, leaning toward him in her intensity. They were just a few inches apart.

"So tell me—why do _you_ think I'm unpopular?" she asked, the challenge apparent.

"Wutai has never liked a lady who doesn't follow their traditional decorum, who wears... what you wear," he said, eyeing her up and down and making her scowl, "who disrespects her grieving father—"

Hands fisted in her hair, she spat, "Of course! It's not like he was a total prick after Mom died or anything, no, _I'm_ the disrespectful one."

" —who runs off for years on end—"

"Defending the goddamn planet."

Tseng held up two placating hands. She hadn't ever seen him this expressive. "What Wutai thinks of you is not necessarily what I think of you."

"Then what _do_ you think of me, Tseng?"

He paused for a moment, studying her. She tensed when he opened his mouth to speak, but he simply said, "You look cold."

He leaned forward and draped his outer robe around her shoulders. As she felt his warmth in it, she realized the firey need for revenge had abated, leaving her with a cold and yawning emptiness she couldn't seem to shake.

He stood. Even in bare feet, on the uneven rooftop, he appeared graceful. He headed toward the edge of the roof, and only after he had thrown her one last thoughtful look and disappeared over the edge did she remember he hadn't answered her question.


	8. Chapter 8

The time had come to see her friends off. She had a country to run, and they had lives to get back to. Tseng had vanished to his room earlier that morning when he understood her intentions to bid them goodbye. She was more than a little grateful for his discretion.

If he spent all his time conveniently out of sight, she might just get used to married life.

Yuffie had taken AVALANCHE to the palace grounds, where the _Shera _waited for them to board. The hulking metal ship seemed like a strange beast amid the faded splendor of Wutai. In the background, Da Chao towered over their group as they stood in front of the boarding dock.

"Cid, you old coot," Yuffie said, slapping him on the shoulder. "Don't get cancer and cark it, okay? I'll be really pissed if you do."

"Not really much chance of that now," he said, the end of a toothpick suffering mutilation between his teeth. "Shera ain't lettin' me smoke anymore. And if she catches me doin' it, she whups my crusty old ass." He studied her in her royal regalia, his blue eyes softening a bit. "Hey, kiddo. You gonna be okay with that guy? I'm real sorry 'bout your pop and all."

She opened her mouth to reassure him that she would be fine but found she had to close it again as tears welled up in her eyes.

He reached out in a show of affection she'd rarely seen from the gruff pilot and ruffled her hair with his work-roughened hands. "Ah, who am I kiddin'?" He laughed, the sound breaking just a bit in the middle. "You're gonna kick ass, Yuff. And when you find out who poisoned your pa, you just call me up and we'll make some plans, all right?"

She nodded, then stumbled forward into his open arms, breathing in the smell of smoke-stained leather, airship fuel, and men's soap. He hugged her hard enough to make her vertebrae crack, then set her back down with a pat on the head. When he had moved aside, Barret stepped forward.

Barret was next. He grinned and jerked his head at Cid. "He's gettin' sentimental in his old age," he chuckled. He swooped in on her and picked her clear up off the ground with the ease of someone used to caring for a little girl. "Don't be a stranger. Marls'll need a babysitter sometime."

"Thanks, Barret," she whispered. _I can't start crying now, or I'll flood all of Wutai by the time they're gone._

Cloud did not need to embrace her the way Cid and Barret had. Yuffie saw it all in his eyes, deep as the blue sea around her island home. He looked upon her with a mixture of pride and affection. "I guess this is 'bye for now."

"Got any epic parting lines, Spikey?"

He reached out one hand and laid it heavily on her shoulder. "You know where to reach me."

"Yeah," she rasped. "Yeah, I do."

"Don't hesitate to call." His smile widened until she saw the faintest flash of teeth, and then he was gone.

Reeve squeaked his way to her in his shiny leather shoes. He half-winced, half-smiled, like an awkward teenager, and melancholy surged within her. She nearly tackled him in her haste to give him a hug, and he laughed when he got his breath back, circling her with his arms. "Hey, I know I said I was sorry before, in the gardens," he started, but she pulled back and socked him in the arm before he could finish.

"Shut up, Reeve," she said. "I'm starting to think maybe you've saved my life. So don't apologize, you big idiot."

He smiled then, his boyish face lighting up with relief, and he stepped out of her arms. "Keep in touch, okay? We'll do lunch soon, and you can tell me all about how much more paperwork you have to do than me."

"We'll have a paperwork _contest_, and I'll _win_," she agreed.

Nanaki padded up behind Reeve on silent cat-feet and nudged Yuffie's hand with his head. She threaded her hands through his mane and said, "Thanks, Nan."

"No thanks are necessary, Yuffie. I will visit again as soon as my duties in Cosmo Canyon allow."

"Don't be a stranger, you big lug."

He rumbled in his throat, a feline chuckle, and then licked her hand with his rough tongue. "I am the last individual you have to worry about being a stranger, my friend. Be well." He slipped under her fingertips and away, his silky fur greatly missed under her skin.

"Yuffie," Vincent said with a voice like old velvet, "when you need me, I will be here. Call me when the time comes."

"How do you know I'll _need_ you, huh?" She lifted one slim eyebrow. "Gettin' a little too big for your leather britches there, Vince."

He smiled then, a slow creep across his face that took her breath away in its purity. "Take care of yourself. Find who killed your father, but..." Here his voice trailed away into thoughtfulness before continuing. "Listen to someone with experience. Do not let revenge obscure your view of the world. Help your country and live."

Vincent brushed his fingertips down the back of her hand and left her with Tifa. Yuffie's face crumpled then, her last bit of resolve deserting her, and Tifa gathered her up and soothed a hand across her back.

"It isn't goodbye forever, you know," she murmured. "I mean, I have to come back and make sure Tseng's treating you like royalty. And we have to bring Marlene and Denzel when the place is safe again. Which reminds me. Yuffie, please, be careful. Someone's out for you, and whoever they are, they got your dad already."

She sniffled into Tifa's hard shoulder, then pulled back, wiping her eyes and nodding fiercely. "I'll make them pay what they did to my pops."

She chucked a hand under Yuffie's chin, her eyes flinty. "I know you will, your highness. Call me soon, yeah? Or I'll chew my fingers off worrying."

"I will."

And with that, the last of them was gone, leaving her in a lavish, rug-strewn room with her guards and herself. She wondered: _what now? _Trailing back to her rooms to spend the rest of the day in a lonely stupor—she figured she deserved at least one day off from all this madness—she decided.

First thing's first. She had to find her father's killer.

And when she found them, she'd make them regret ever crossing her.

Finding Godo's killer was proving to be more difficult than she had initially imagined. Staniv and Gorki had no more information to report to her about who had poisoned Godo. They only knew that the poison was an old one, favored by the courts back when Wutai was a flourishing empire a hundred years previous. More than one member of the old royal families had been taken by this poison.

Gorki's forensics team had done an adequate job deciphering the available information. The poison was created from the crushed stamen of a rare flower called the Osai Kurayami. Records indicated its decline had occurred due to aggressive harvesting, and it could hardly be found these days. Staniv had little to offer her from the official records—most information about the flower and its poison had been destroyed in the years following its decline, to ensure it could not be used again.

But somebody remembered the Osai Kurayami. Whoever they were, they had access to records that even Yuffie's palace did not possess. She thought if she could uncover where the information had come from, she might be one step closer to finding her father's killer. If Shinra hadn't burned their libraries during the war, she might know where to start.

With no leads and no suspects, she had nowhere to go but the council chamber, where she would accomplish other goals while she waited for a trail to emerge.

"What I'm saying to you is, we're not gonna get away with it this early in the game." To emphasize her point, Yuffie slapped her open hand on the thick table. It made a nice noise to accompany her fervor.

"There's simply no money for this unless we raise taxes on the rich," Chekhov said, for the third time.

Eyes flashing, Yuffie rounded on the older woman. "So you've said. But do you really think we'll be able to do that without rioting in the streets?"

"Or more assassins in the palace," Shake muttered.

"And has it occurred to you, your highness," Staniv drawled, "that for the first few months, the Eastern agricultural buyers are going to purchase our crops for a pittance? Quality has been so poor in past years that they are not likely to pay correct prices until our farmers prove their mettle."

Yuffie massaged her temples, the cloth of her kimono grinding between her elbows and the wood of the table. "Believe it or not, yeah. I've thought of it."

"If you don't raise the taxes on the wealthy, then your only other sources are the middle class and the poor. Mostly the poor, considering they are the greater number here, Empress." Chekhov's sharp eyes glittered from their bed of crows' feet.

"Again—rioting in the streets."

"The rich it is, then," Gorki concluded, obviously tired of the argument.

They had been pursuing this topic for nearly an hour. Yuffie insisted the only way to bolster agriculture in Wutai, and, therefore trade, would be to supply the farmers with equipment that had not been obsolete for twenty years. However, their coffers were already low. More cobwebs took up residence there than gil, these days. The logical course of action would be to raise taxes, but the target of these tax increases would not be pleased. She and her council would have to choose carefully.

After a moment of looking over her counsel wearily, Yuffie deflated. "Fine. The rich it is. If we're all in favor, this concludes today's meeting."

So, after a long day of endeavoring to meet her own guidelines of _do not fall asleep in front of The Five Mighty Gods_ and _stop drumming your nails on the table in front of Tseng_, Yuffie looked forward to getting some much-needed rest.

She knew it would never be that easy, though. She thought constantly of the man asleep next to her. She had been a tossing, restless sleeper once upon a time, but that had gone the way of the Ancients—along with her own room in a little house on the outskirts of town.

"Good night, Tseng."

"Good night, Empress."

Try as she might, she could not get used to his constant formality. She didn't imagine "Yuffie" spilling from his lips would suit him any better, but "Empress" was grandiose, and "my lady" rubbed her the wrong way.

Sleeping in a bed with Tseng for the second night in a row, however, seemed just as impossible as the first night. After struggling to sit still for more than an hour, she thought she might go for a walk. Tseng's breathing deepened as she used nearly two decades of ninja training to sneak from the bed without waking him. It took her three quick steps to get to her slippers, and then she was out in the hallway closing the door as gingerly as possible.

The knob clicked into place almost soundlessly, and she almost went boneless with relief. She had snuck away without waking the head of the Turks. _Still got it, baby._

In various hidey-holes around the palace, Yuffie had stashes of equipment intended for different purposes. Lock picks in one false-bottom drawer, dark clothing in a moving wall panel in the wine room. One thing her father had always told her was to be prepared.

Really, she just wanted to take a rooftop stroll through Wutai. She knew if Tseng found out, he'd be Da Chao levels of furious, but her feet itched. The news of her father's poisoning had not quite stopped circling her mind like a Giant Hornet.

She picked up boots and clothes from behind a particularly ugly painting of her great grandmother Akane Kisaragi, then headed for her secret roof exit. The night air was like a cool hand on her face. It smelled like winter approaching.

She would need to hang from the second story to drop into the gardens. Before she could make the move, Yuffie spotted movement in a far corner. She squinted, wondering if she'd imagined it. With the recent attempts on her life, she didn't want to take any chances.

The light of the crescent moon did little but accentuate the shadows among the foliage. _Wait. _There. Scaling the wall. She wasn't sure how he'd gotten past her guards, but she'd catch him for sure. Would it be another attempt on her life, or was this person escaping in search of some sort of information?

This person might have something to do with Godo's death. She slithered on her belly to the edge of the roof, praying she wouldn't be too loud on the drop.

By the time she hit ground, the intruder was over the wall. She only caught a glimpse of him as she scrambled up and over, managing to scratch her knees up in the process. She followed as quietly into the trees surrounding the garden wall, being as careful as possible not to break any twigs.

She tracked the sneak from the forest at the back of the palace and into the where the trees broke for cityscape. Maybe twenty minutes passed as he weaved through quiet residential streets where almost no one roamed. The first time she lost him around a corner, she found him again. The second time, he took a curve ahead of her and when she followed, she found herself at a crossroads of more than three different roads and alleyways into the heart of the city, where people were starting to show.

Yuffie could not find him, and she was just about to turn around and go back to her rooms disappointed when a hand clamped down on her wrist from the shadows. She hadn't screamed in surprise in years, so instead she swung her body into a strike toward her assailant's legs.

Deftly, her attacker dodged in the dark, pulling her further into the shadowed area of the alley. Her other wrist was seized as she went for the throwing star in her breast pocket. She reared back to try for a headbutt.

"Be still."

Tseng's voice cut through her struggle like a knife. She froze. She could just make out his features in the dark.

"How did you find me?" she whispered.

"I followed you from the room when you left."

She was disgusted with herself for being caught, and for being somewhat intimidated by Tseng. She might have thrown him off, but his grip was like iron. "I really need to quit underestimating you."

"And I need to quit underestimating your eagerness to put yourself in danger." He turned her toward the palace. With a deft twist, she extricated herself from his grip and managed to put some distance between them. He stood opposite her, his face stony. "Come back to the palace."

"I'm in the middle of something." She walked closer and tried to sidestep him. At this rate, she'd be lucky if she could pick up the trail again. "I should get back to it."

"You shouldn't be here alone."

"I'm perfectly capable of handling this on my own."

He pushed past her in the direction he had come from. "Then what am I here for?"

She considered his position. Yuffie wanted so badly to disregard his feelings and continue her search, but… the intruder was long gone, it was late, and she really was at risk by herself. And was she imagining it, or did Tseng seem miffed she had ditched him?

She frowned and ran to catch up with him. His steps slowed somewhat, and they walked side by side in silence.

Finally, Yuffie said. "I wanted to be alone, and I saw him leaving the garden. I didn't think, I just followed him."

"I was under the impression that your safety was of importance to you. Apparently, I was mistaken."

She sagged. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"Do you want to die before you find your father's murderer?"

Okay, now he sounded like her father. She felt her issues with authority bubbling up and had to bite her tongue. "I get it," she said tersely.

This seemed to satisfy him, for he lapsed into silence. She followed him through the woods like a shadow, impressed by how quietly he moved across the debris-strewn forest floor. She didn't recognize the clothes he was wearing, and she realized he had stuffed stashed in a hidey-hole of his own somewhere.

The guards at the main path to the palace looked shocked to see the two of them as they approached. As their eyes flicked between her and Tseng, wide, she knew this would be all over the palace by morning.

"I really have to get a better re-entrance strategy," Yuffie muttered, and to her surprise, Tseng laughed. Short but definitely amused. After that, their walk to the rooms seemed far less tense, and they took turns undressing and slipping into bed as if it were old habit.

That night, she had no trouble falling asleep despite Tseng's presence.

.

Over the next week or so, Yuffie and Tseng fell into a sort of awkward routine. They moved clumsily around each other, managing mostly to keep to themselves. Despite this, Yuffie still could not get accustomed to sharing a bed with Tseng. Most nights, she fell asleep with no trouble after exhausting days in the council room, on the phone to diplomats and Reeve, arranging finances for the palace with Staniv, and countless other mind-numbing activities. She was starting to understand how important it could be for a ruler to have, if not a loving partner, a trusted confidante. She wished she could have just married Tifa. _At least then I could have awesome, not-poisoned fried chicken for Thursday dinner._

Yuffie had thought that maybe her respite would come in the form of sleep each night. Of all things, sleep seemed the easiest to her, a brief escape from new stresses, old stresses, and a hoard of expectations pressing at her mind morning, noon, and night. If she could curl into the sweet embrace of sleep, she could stop thinking for at least a few hours.

However, even just getting ready for bed in the evening was unsettling. By the middle of the week, she had managed to get a privacy screen installed so they could change without playing the bathroom shuffle. Even this, which seemed relatively simple, made her tense. Add the lack of conversation between them, and she felt on edge. She was usually the first back in the room, Tseng arriving from his office and going straight to the shower in the connecting bathroom. Yuffie would sit in bed and fidget, endeavoring not to think about the fact that there was a rather attractive (if cold, stiff, and ruthless) man naked behind the door.

Her novels hadn't helped; most of them were trashy romance stuff. All the lurid descriptions of quivering flesh just made her blush now that she didn't have a room to herself. Her only recourse was to sit on the bed picking nervously at her nails until he emerged, changed, and asked politely if she was ready to "retire."

Some nights she would lie awake and stare at the canopy above their bed, at the beautiful embroidery done by some ancestor of hers, and she would be unable to take her mind off the fact that any tossing or turning would disturb her bedmate. Yuffie had been a restless sleeper her entire life, flinging herself about in any manner of positions throughout the night. Often, she would wake with her head where her feet had been upon falling asleep. There was no way of knowing if she still did so now, but she wondered at times if her childhood habit of conversing in her sleep might have carried over into adulthood.

The third night, she woke thrashing from dreams of her father dying in front of her, his skin withering from his bones and his eyes bursting from his sockets like overripe grapes. Sweat cooled on every inch of her body, soaking her nightclothes, and her hair stood in all directions.

When she relaxed a bit, she noticed Tseng watching her, the tension easing from his body slowly. He looked ready to spring into action, and she breathed out her terror. She was learning that the slightest unusual movement would send Tseng reaching for the handgun under his pillow.

"Sorry. Nightmares."

He didn't ask what they were about, nodding instead. Before she turned completely over to drift back to sleep, his voice met her ears. "You might try clearing your mind completely before falling asleep."

After a moment, she said, "Thank you." He didn't reply.

As she got comfortable again, she had half-formed images of him shooting her out of surprise one night and resolved herself to getting little rest in the coming days.

.

Her first attempt to enter the public sphere in a casual manner was a mistake. The press had been lenient in the wake of her father's death and funeral, but they fell on her like a pack of dogs when she tried to step out to Turtle Paradise for a drink.

"Your highness, do you believe the rumors about your new husband's supposed loyalty to the underground Shinra move—"

She didn't know where to go. They had surrounded her in seconds. She was suddenly nervous in the press of bodies.

"—heard that AVALANCHE has not spoken to you since you married a dog of the—"

"Rumor has it that you have a bun in the oven, your majesty. What do you have to say about that?"

Staniv and Chekhov ushered Yuffie back into the palace after their recent outing into the city, dodging and weaving through the throng of reporters like experts. She didn't know where they came from.

"Hey, Staniv," she said, the tightness of her voice belying her calm face, "how come Godo ruled for thirty years and no one gave a shit about _him_?"

"Because you are making changes, my lady. The world watches Wutai once more."

.

Next to Tseng's choice of reading—what looked like a chess strategy manual—Yuffie's _A Fistful of Kisses_ seemed a little, well, embarrassing. She did her best to hide the cover from him as she read, but Tseng never looked up from his page.

"I don't know how you can be so absorbed in that," she muttered, feeling sullen. Reading had never been her first choice on a list of Super Special Fun Things to Do in Wutai.

He spared her a brief glance. "I don't know how you can be so absorbed in _that_."

She lifted her chin a bit, but he didn't notice. She missed her father suddenly, like an ache that went down to her bones. For all their problems, he would've teased back and forth with her. She had fond memories of their playful arguments. There was none of that banter with Tseng.

Just that day, she had passed him in the hallway, each heading to some separate destination in their business. He had met her eyes but not said a word, even as she struggled with how to react to such a mundane occurrence as meeting her own husband in the hallway. Should she wave? Say good afternoon? No, she never said good afternoon. And why wave if they were going to pass two feet from each other?

As he passed, she lifted her right hand, then halted, caught by her own indecision. A stunted half-wave issued from her disobedient limb, and she grimaced more than smiled. He had simply nodded to her and continued striding confidently, efficiently through the hall. After he had disappeared out of sight, Yuffie had paused to bang her head against the wall for a full thirty seconds.

The only other person she had had so much trouble communicating with before Tseng was Vincent, and her solution to that had been climbing all over him, asking too many questions, and stealing his materia at every interval. It hadn't worked very well at all, really, and she doubted she could get away with it at twenty-five like she had at sixteen.

She fell asleep wondering how hard it would be to learn chess.

.

"Our special guest today, for the first time ever, is the White Rose of Wutai!"

Exuberant applause sounded as Yuffie stepped from the back halls and onto the stage. The bright lamps beat down on her in her kimono, and she felt a bead of sweat trickle down her back. She tried not to look directly at any one of the hundreds of audience members.

Three steps took her across the small space to the cushy blue chair awaiting her. Opposite her sat Wutai's most popular daytime talk show host, Mori. He was middle-aged, but he had a youthful face. He had a round, boyish face and a quick smile, with a thick mop of dark hair. Wutai loved Mori.

When his representatives called Staniv to set up an interview with her, she didn't think twice.

"How are you today, Lady Kisaragi?"

She swallowed, trying not to feel nervous. She thought her plans were solid, and she had thought a bit about what he might ask her. Mori could be sharp when it came to guests with whom he disagreed, but she knew enough from watching his sow to feel that he would support her endeavors. He often donated to charity, and had founded an organization for housing orphan children.

"I'm doing great, Mori, how about yourself?"

"Splendid! Let's get straight to business so we don't run out of time today, as I'm sure we have lots of audience questions for you. Would you mind telling us about your plans for renovation to the education system in Wutai?"

"Well, you see, I have this idea that our education system here is a little backward. I think we sometimes place too great an emphasis on tradition." At the collective intake of breath, Yuffie smiled with great cheer out at the audience. "Oh, no, no, please don't get me wrong. Tradition is Wutai's bread and butter. Tradition makes us strong. But in these modern times with our fast technology, I think it's important to have courses on global relations and the global economy. After all, in a way, aren't we all living under the same roof?"

"Splendid ideas, your highness. Now could you tell us about…"

.

"What's it like, sleeping next to him?" Though it was clear Shake attempted to sound nonchalant and conversational, his voice could not quite hide the vitriol.

"Like sleeping next to anyone else," she said. "Chill out."

After a moment of tense silence, Shake said, "Does he ever touch—"

She threw her bowl of noodles in his face and boxed him on the ears, ashamed and triumphant at his howls of pain.

.

Yuffie debated with herself. Ask him to pass the soup, like a polite human being with good breeding and a modicum of sense, _or_ save herself the awkwardness and just reach over him instead. Of course, she'd have to go to the trouble of tying up her fancy sleeves so they wouldn't drag through the bright red sauce on his chicken. Yuffie thought she really should never wear white, considering she always ruined it, either by her own hands or by cosmic mishap.

To ask, or not to ask? Surely it wouldn't spark conversation, but that was the problem. She _wanted_ to spark conversation with him. Trouble was, nothing she said seemed to interest him. He was always either reading at the dinner table—files, books, official-looking documents—or staring so thoughtfully into his food she thought it might catch fire. Which would be a waste of the Jade Dragon's chef's talents.

After debating far too long, Yuffie rose, walked to around Tseng to his other side, picked up the serving bowl, and returned to her seat.

Finally, he looked at her, his eyes torn from the open file in front of him. "You need only ask me to pass it."

She shrugged. "Didn't want to bother you."

Mockingly, he said, "Would you pass the dumplings?" After she complied, he said, "You have something on your sleeve."

She sighed, feeling like a three-year-old caught in an adult's body.

.

Daiyu welcomed Yuffie first with a bow, then with a private embrace behind the doors of her office. She traced her clever fingers over the bags under Yuffie's eyes and frowned as she tipped her queen's head up by the chin.

"I have heard," she said quietly, "what you plan to do with the school system. I am truly impressed."

Yuffie clutched her temples. "Can we not talk about business here? Please?"

"Very well. How is your husband?"

"Can we not talk about my husband either?"

Daiyu nodded, her glossy black hair swinging over her shoulders. "What is your desire, my lady?"

"Call me Yuffie, and give me another hug."

.

In frustration, she threw her makeup across the room with window-rattling force. Compacts and cases and wells of color burst and starfished across the wall. She studied the beautiful splatter and resolved not to wear makeup anymore.

"I will call the maid," Tseng said, having entered a moment after her outburst, his body drawn tight for possible danger.

"Leave it."

He watched her for a moment, then bowed out. "As you wish, my lady."

.

Yuffie's finger lingered on her cell phone in the dim light of an abandoned hallway. She hovered over the glowing "3" on the numpad, contemplating speed-dialing Reeve. She imagined what she might say to him. Or maybe Tifa, just one number away at 4.

_Hey, Reeve. How've you been? Oh, me? Well, I've got no one to talk to, and I don't think I've ever been so lonely in my entire life. Wutai's poor as hell, my dad's been murdered, and I'm constantly under the public eye. Me and Tseng are getting along great. I'm totally fine!_

Instead of calling anyone, she put her head between her knees and stared at the carpet. For a long time, her eyes followed the swirl and swing of the beautiful, nonsensical pattern. She couldn't summon the energy required for tears.


	9. Chapter 9

Yuffie set her chopsticks down with a clatter and sighed the loudest sigh she thought she had ever sighed.

For his part, Tseng lifted his eyebrows and turned to her as if to say, "Is there a problem?" He did not vocalize, however, merely wiped his mouth with a napkin and settled his hands in his lap.

"You know, for all your straight-faced crap, you can be kind of dainty sometimes," Yuffie said, feeling a foul mood settling somewhere between her shoulder blades.

"You are restless," he shot back.

A thousand different replies clamored behind her lips, but instead of unleashing them she tipped her head back to stare at the ceiling. After a moment of silence, she said, "Meet me in the dojo in an hour."

"The dojo?" Surprise tinged his voice but did not touch his impassive face. Suddenly, Yuffie wanted to slap him. She wondered at her sudden tendency toward spousal abuse.

"That's what I said," she snapped. Without further ado, she stood and exited the room.

She didn't expect Tseng to be there after how she had spoken to him; he didn't seem the type to be ordered around by just anyone, but when she entered with training bag in hand and saw him, she almost grinned. The foul mood from the day before remained, but Yuffie was surprised and pleased to see him there already dressed in sparring clothes, standing quietly to the side.

Shake had considered the dojo his domain since he was old enough to declare it in words. He spent a good portion of his time each day in the large main room, which had been strewn with mats for ease of sparring and exercise. There were six circles painted throughout the room, with space around each one for spectators and, in some cases, referees. Some days, Yuffie found him in some of the smaller side rooms, training guards or young children taking classes at the palace. Shake gave a discounted fee based on income, and she knew that he waived some of the poorer children's payments entirely.

Shake caught her eye as several guards filed toward the locker rooms, their deep voices a hum of conversation. "What's he doing here?" he hissed, and her back stiffened at his tone.

"_He_," she said, not enjoying the twist of defensiveness in her tone, "is here to spar with me."

"Why?"

"Because I said so," she replied sharply. He scowled mightily at this and stalked off to the locker rooms.

Yuffie changed quickly and returned, not wanting to leave Tseng alone in the main room any longer. She was afraid if she did that Shake might decide he wanted Tseng gone for good and chop his head off with one of the impressive collection of antique weapons lining the far wall.

She met Tseng's eyes from across the room, and he dipped his head. Leading him to a mostly empty corner, she stood tall and confident as she tried not to let Shake's behavior get under her skin. After a month of his open hostility toward Tseng, she was starting to lose her patience.

It was hard to redirect her eyes when she caught sight of his slightly open shirt. His white throat beckoned to her before disappearing into his collar. Trying to avoid giving into the attraction, she made eye contact with him and bowed to signify commencement of their match. She wasn't sure of Tseng's formal training, but Yuffie had an inkling that she need not underestimate him or she might get herself hurt.

Yuffie assumed a stance Shake's youngsters would have learned first and watched Tseng mirror her.

"So," she said, excitement surging through her limbs at the calm, almost commanding aura emanating from her opponent, "how much training have you had in the martial arts?"

His mouth thinned and he cleared his throat. "I'm the head of the Turks." His words were innocuous, but she got the impression she had just been insulted.

"I think you mean former head of the Turks. You're the Emperor of Wutai now."

A small, devious smile crept across his face, and her breath fled her. He chose that moment to strike.

Tseng intended to sweep her legs out from under her, but she leapt over his foot and darted to his other side, aiming for his neck with a chopping motion. He whirled and blocked with his forearm. She noticed a flair and particular cadence to his movement that belied his foreign training. The thought occurred to her that he might not stick to the rules of traditional Wuteng martial arts, and she decided to watch for that before he blindsided her.

"Looks like you know more than I gave you credit for." Yuffie grinned, then launched into a flurry of jabs designed to find any opening in his form.

"You often give me too little credit, your highness."

At his formal title for her, she felt a ghost of her earlier irritation, and her attacks increased in fervor. He dodged them all with seemingly no effort, but then she noticed the sweat beading on his forehead just at the edge of his hairline.

"Why won't you call me Yuffie?" At this, she sent a slashing hand toward his face, and he caught her. When her other arm swung up to take advantage of his vulnerability, he caught that one too. They stilled, arms crossed over each other.

Tseng leaned in toward her, his nose just a bare inch from hers. At her failure to struggle or move away, he advanced, his breath stirring the hair just above the shell of her ear. He said in a low voice, "Do you feel we've reached that level of companionship, Yuffie?"

She just barely managed to contain the shudder that shot through her. Her heart was beating so fast, and she knew it wasn't from exertion. "I don't know, Tseng. Do you?"

The last question from her mouth like a dagger, and she shoved off him. Their brief power struggle concluded with her spinning backward, then returning for a high kick toward his face. He snared her ankle, but she deftly wrenched it out of his palm and targeted his waist with her hands.

The pull as she escaped his grip threw him off balance, and her fingers connected. He spared a moment to grunt, then struck her hard in the solar plexus. She moved quickly away to recuperate, and they began to circle one another.

"I don't know jack shit about you," Yuffie said, and she was angry suddenly.

An entire month of politics—posturing, posing, smiling, baby-kissing and picture-signing and verbal volleying, and she was angry. She had virtually no friends in her own country, no one who truly knew her. After returning from years of adventuring, after saving the entire world three times over, the only people who saw past her skin and into the real Yuffie, saw the ruler and the woman and the friend, was AVALANCHE. But they weren't here now. No one was here now. No one but jealous Shake, the Mighty Gods, and her cold husband.

Yuffie wanted to scream.

"Why don't I know anything about you?" Her voice was a hard whisper which carried across the space between them. "Because I feel like you know _everything_ about me."

Her furious movements connected again, with a kick to Tseng's shins that actually made him falter. One fist crashed into his back, but he caught her body and held. Chest to chest felt intimate and somehow crass, so she wiggled in his arms until she was pressed back to his chest. She heard a word start from his mouth, but the anger overtook her and Leviathan shifted somewhere just beneath her skin. In that moment, she felt the godlike power within her reach out and touch the places where Tseng's skin connected with hers.

His grip slackened. Yuffie took that brief opportunity to slam her hips back into his and slip from his arms like water. She turned with an arm cocked and ready to hit, then stopped short. An expression she had never seen before flashed across Tseng's face. He stared at her with wide eyes, eyebrows high, and she found herself so surprised she could not make another move.

"What was that?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

"What was what?"

He came close to her, reached out to touch her arm with a strange expression, and she flinched away.

"You must have felt that," he said, then another strange expression twisted his face.

"I didn't feel anything," she spat. "What the hell are you talking about?" Before he could answer, she whirled toward the shower rooms. "Whatever. I'm done here."

As she left feeling unsatisfied and confused, she did not notice Tseng's eyes following her, narrowed in calculation.

.

Yuffie stood in the hallway before their bedroom door that night, trying her best to rein in the butterflies in her stomach.

Since the incident that afternoon, she had done her level best to avoid Tseng. Not that there had been any need to avoid him-he had made no appearance after she stormed from the dojo. True to her inability to predict him thus far, her husband had done the exact opposite of what she expected. He had not come to ask her questions, he had not pursued her.

The elaborate doors to her room seemed more imposing now than ever before. The carved figure of a water dragon twined around the perimeter of the doors, coming to an end at the door handles, whose knockers were carved brass shaped like roaring mouths with curved fangs. She stared into one of these brass Leviathans for a few moments, gathering herself, then entered.

Tseng was nowhere to be found. She checked hesitantly behind the screen, just in case, but found nothing. Uneasy for some reason, Yuffie stripped and changed, then slipped into bed. Before she knew it, the day's events weighed on her, and she succumbed to sleep.

She awakened abruptly when the mattress dipped. She realized she must have fallen asleep and almost asked Tseng where he'd been, but then she thought better of it. Maybe if she acted like nothing had happened, he would not question her.

He greeted her the next morning normally, no behavior out of the ordinary. Now she was really feeling uneasy. Surely he must be curious at what he had felt-the rise and surge of Leviathan's power within her. Yuffie knew for a fact the dragon had connected with Tseng on a palpable level, even if only for a moment. And she knew for a fact that he had felt it by the pure astonishment on his face afterward.

A day passed. Then another, and another. Still, he asked no questions. Yuffie began to grow suspicious. In her mind, there was no way the head of the Turks would not have further questions. No way in all the hells.

Vincent hadn't been a Turk for a long, long time, but her attempts to successfully steal his favorite materia had become somewhat of a running joke among AVALANCHE. Even at her best, she had trouble sneaking up behind him, and the few times she'd managed to snag his mastered Hade, he'd questioned her no less than ten minutes afterward.

Tseng was hiding something.

Yuffie began to formulate a plan. She would have to spy on him, definitely. At least it would be something she was good at, unlike posturing and ruling a country. But could she pull it off without Tseng catching her? And as she schemed, excitement, the kind she had not felt in a long while, took root in her.

Finally, she would have some insight into the workings of Tseng's brain.

Yuffie had planned this perfectly. With no outside help—for people might talk, and she couldn't have that in these delicate times—Yuffie had excised all the flaws from the timing and execution. After some discreet observation, she noted that Tseng took lunch at the same time every day, and every day he locked the door to his small, private office behind him before he left. He had no posted guards per his request, but the lock he had installed looked complicated, high-tech, definitely made by the combined efforts of the WRO's brainpower and the Shinra's money.

After a week of surveillance of her husband's previously mysterious day-habits, Yuffie hid her favorite lockpicks in her kimono and strolled merrily down to his wing of the castle, projecting the image that she belonged there. And she did. It was her palace, she reminded herself. She had every right to be wherever the hell she wanted, including her husband's private office.

Accessing his office without damaging the lock, however, proved more difficult than anticipated. The thing was definitely built to withstand the assault of even someone as freakishly skilled in the art of burglary as Yuffie. She knew, though, that she most likely only had one chance to get in without being seen, so she called on all her years of burglary prowess. The most difficult locks she had ever picked came to mind (the door to Reeve's room had been a doozy), and she thought once she might drop the pick for how hard her palms were sweating.

After a heart-hammering five minutes, the lock gave with a quiet snick. Yuffie slipped inside the dark office. _He must keep the shades drawn. Paranoid._ She flipped on the lights.

Rubbing her devious little hands together, the ruler of Wutai and the best thief around began rifling through the drawers on Tseng's polished black desk.

Her initial glee dissipated after about two minutes. Despite Tseng working from this office on a daily basis, she could find nothing of consequence. There was Wutai-related paperwork and a surprising number of very detailed charts detailing the country's economic process, but she could find nothing that looked remotely inappropriate or suspicious.

"God, Tseng," she muttered, "not even a coded calendar? And I thought I had you pegged."

Yuffie turned to other places in the office. The filing cabinet in the corner beckoned to her. After thorough inspection, nothing interesting came to light. She eyed the official-looking safe in the corner. It would take some doing, but she might be able to crack the five-digit code if she worked at it.

Unfortunately, her watch showed that Tseng would be coming back in about ten minutes, and she needed ample time to get away. She didn't want him to catch her lurking around this wing any more than she wanted to be caught in the office.

She scanned the room to ensure nothing was out of place. She could tell by the pristine, almost untouched look of the place that Tseng was anal. He would know if she didn't use the utmost caution. Everything seemed right, so she dashed from the room on tiptoe and closed the door behind her.

.

Yuffie accidentally got an eyeful as she entered the room one random evening. When she opened the doors and her eyes landed on Tseng's sculpted back. They then trailed almost of their own accord down to his bare backside and the muscles of his thighs and calves, she froze in place. On hearing the door open, he swiveled, blinked, and simply stood there.

"Sorry," she stammered, slamming the door behind her faster than Cid when Shera suggested Spring cleaning.

She almost slid down to the floor in the carpeted hallway, but Tseng opened the door behind her, upsetting her balance. Before she could topple and crack her skull on the floor, he caught her and righted her, smoothing the fabric at her shoulders briefly before withdrawing. To her relief, a swift look informed her that he was, in fact, dressed.

"Are you all right?" he asked, amusement rippling in his voice.

Yuffie said, "Uh, yes," then scurried past him to the privacy screen. She stepped behind it partly to conceal her own embarrassment and partly to tear herself from the feeling of his arms holding her.

"I'm really sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. I lost track of time in the bath and thought you would not be finished with your evening meditation for some time. If I had known, I would have been behind the screen."

She could not see him, but she could still hear the smile in his voice. In the past few weeks, she had noticed that he rarely smiled outright, not unless she saw a newspaper with his expression schooled into a professional, pleasant expression. Sometimes, though, she could hear his pleasure in his voice. Yuffie wondered if she were unique in this ability.

When she came out from behind the screen dressed in her nightrobes, she stopped walking and stared at him for the second time that evening. His damp hair gleamed in the ambient light of their bedroom, and his face had a clean, fresh look that stunned her. She recognized her attraction to him with dismay.

_This is a very bad idea, Yuffie, _she chastised herself. She tore her gaze from his and fairly dove into the blankets on her side of the bed. Tseng, taking his cue, switched off the table lamp and threw the room into darkness and moonlight. She felt the weight of his eyes and the impression of his body still, though, and the look of him lingered with her until she fell asleep.

"Lady Kisaragi," Gorki started, "I have something you'll need to see today."

Startled at the direct address upon entering the conference room, Yuffie stared at him for just a moment before taking her customary position at the head of the long, heavy table. "Gorki, have you run into any problems with the heavier patrol?"

"Recently, we've discovered… an issue."

At his hesitation, Yuffie's eyes narrowed. In attendance were four of the Mighty Gods: herself, Staniv, Chekov, and Gorki. Shake was absent, as he had classes to train at this time. Staniv was the official historian for each meeting, so Shake would hear about the meeting later.

Eyeing her speculatively, Gorki passed a standard filing folder down the table. Chekov passed it to her. "What's with the atmosphere here? Should I be worried?"

The others exchanged looks, and Gorki cleared his throat. "It seems, your highness, that we have some illegal activity going on in Wutai."

"Tell me something I don't know." She stopped talking, eyes widening. A small bag of fine, silver-white powder had slipped from the file. It was no bigger than the end segment of her thumb, but as she held it up toward the window, the substance sparkled and threw shards of radiant blue light on the walls. "Gorki, this is…"

"Yes, your highness."

"I knew Edge and even Costa del Sol were having some trouble with this, but Dust here? In Wutai?"

Gorki nodded solemnly. "WPD has stumbled upon a few deals in the past weeks, and we have reason to believe someone might be importing the drug."

"What reason?"

"A cargo ship was detained in our primary southern port. Initially, it seemed to be a shipment of fabric, but false bottoms in all of the crates revealed compartments hiding thousands of pounds of Dust."

Yuffie's eyebrows lifted. "Why did you detain the ship?"

"We got an anonymous tip. We believe rival gangs might be outing each other."

Briefly indulging herself, she put her face in her hands and scrubbed her eyes, heedless of her companions' gazes. She sighed. "Okay. So we'll have to be on the lookout for this stuff now. Up surveillance in likely areas, Gorki. The slums, ports, stuff like that. I'm going to make a phone call to the WRO."

After a few more exhausting hours with the Mighty Gods, Yuffie gave Reeve a call from her personal phone. He picked up with a surprised and please, "Hey, Yuffie."

Reeve was always excited to speak with Yuffie. She knew better than to believe that he was all boyish smiles and diplomatic handshakes and making sure she didn't choke on her own vomit after a night of heavy drinking and strip poker, though. The kind of mind it took to run the WRO under Rufus Shinra had to be a sharp one. The kind of mind it took to operate in old-school Shinra with your own personal goals in mind and not wake up one morning with your entrails four feet across the room—well, that was a complex and intriguing mind.

She respected Reeve all the more for knowing he was a shark.

"Hey, Reeve. How are you?"

"I'm fine," he said, voice suddenly on guard. "I take it that you're not just calling to chat, though. What's up?"

"I need you to fax me any files you have on Dust, its side effects, its major uses, and all that junk. Think you can do that for me?"

"Oh, no. You don't mean there's a problem with this crap in Wutai, too?"

She sighed and ran her free hand through her hair. It was getting shaggier than she liked, and it needed cutting. "Gorki's goons busted some trade ship carrying a couple thousand pounds of Dust. So, when can you get the information to me? I know you have some. You're Reeve."

"Check your fax."

True to Tuesti Form, the papers were printing in steady mechanical rhythm in her office, landing in the tray ready for her to read. "Reeve, you're always awesome."

"I know," he said, with a genuine smile in his voice. Unable to help herself, she grinned. Reeve had an infectious nature about him, part of what made him a great politician.

"Anyway, I'm gonna take these to read over, so I'll smell ya later," she said. Reeve murmured a goodbye and a good luck, and the line clicked silent in her ear.

Fancying herself a bit of a late lunch to read the file over, she rang the kitchen for some udon and headed over to the small dining room she and Tseng had taken to sharing for dinner. When she arrived, however, the room was already occupied. Tseng looked up from his lunch - an oddly out of place sub sandwich and potato chips - and nodded to her.

"Good afternoon, your highness."

Yuffie gave him a small, tight-lipped smile, then sat, thumbing through the file as she awaited her noodles. She had wanted to be alone while she contemplated this latest problem, but then again, things had rarely gone her way as of late. Sure, Wutai had strengthened with surprising alacrity after years of decay, but her personal life blew chocobo chunks. She sighed at her own selfish needs.

A few moments of quiet passed, and Tseng cleared his throat. "What are you reading?"

She jerked, startled, having forgotten about him during her reading. "Uh. Sorry?"

"May I ask what you're reading?"

Shrugging, Yuffie pushed the file across the table toward him. "Here, look for yourself."

His keen eyes scanned the opening summary page quickly. "And why are you reading about Diamond Dust?"

"Because Gorki busted a trade ship carrying a couple thousand pounds of it in our southern port," she said, already tired of telling this story.

Tseng's calm, contained voice filled the room as he read aloud, "'The physical side effects of long-term or improper use of Diamond Dust include minor mutations, diarrhea, bleeding from the orifices or pores, and paralysis. The mental side effects include but are not limited to violent mood swings, megalomaniacal delusions, and schizophrenic tendencies.'"

"So apparently, Wutai's got a Dust problem I had no idea existed."

Named for Shiva's beautiful and terrifying attack, Diamond Dust was an illegal drug that had been gaining popularity in Edge and Costa del Sol recently.

"What are your plans to combat this?" Tseng, straight to the point.

For the second time that day, she put her head in her hands. A servant entered then, gracefully serving her udon and retreating. The aroma of the dish suddenly turned her stomach.

"Right now we're just going to up surveillance in the likely areas and pass some laws on punishing possession and distribution."

He hummed, a thoughtful noise, continuing his perusal of the file. "I suppose there's nothing we can do at the source."

"I don't think so. Patrolling the damn things is impossible, since new hotspots form and randomly disappear all the time."

Natural mako springs occurred all over Gaia, especially in hotspots like the Nibel Mountains and the Mythril Caves. Dealers and creators of Diamond Dust harvested the mako and diluted it, turning it into a glittering powder that could be smoked or snorted, depending on preference. However, the dilution process was not always foolproof, and long-term mako abuse or improper dosage could lead to serious consequences. Just when the planet discovered alternative power sources in order to quit mucking about in the Lifestream, another problem popped up.

"I suppose posting guards in hotspots is not plausible," Tseng mused. "Even just navigating the Nibel Mountains can kill the unwary."

"The runners are crazy to go there."

"This file says that every one in three of them is injured or killed."

"Trust Reeve to have all the gory details. When you're done, I need that back. I have a feeling I'm gonna be reading it all night long."

When he handed the file back to her, she asked, tentative, "How was your day?"

His eyes darted from his plate to settle on her face, unblinking. She found his stares unnerving. "Acceptable. And yours?"

She shrugged. "Lots of boring paperwork to get through before we can implement the new road-building committee." She wound noodles onto her chopstick and reached over the table to get at a serving plate.

Eyebrows lifting, he passed her the entire platter. "And is that proceeding smoothly otherwise?"

"We're hoping once we get it in order, it'll provide enough jobs to help alleviate unemployment. Maybe it'll tide people over until we can generate some more public work programs."

Tseng took the time to chew and swallow with a grace Yuffie envied. "I wasn't aware you had a fondness for economics, your highness."

She shrugged. "I don't, but it's my job. Not like they didn't shove it down my throat in royal training school, anyway."

"Royal training school?"

"You know, balancing books on your head, having good posture, knowing how to kill a man with just a chopstick, that kind of thing. What, they don't teach you this stuff in the Turk Textbook?"

To her surprise, his eyes glittered with amusement as he sipped his water. "They don't teach you how not to talk with your mouth full in royal training school?"

Yuffie gaped, too stunned to laugh, and after a moment of this, Tseng lifted one hand and gently eased her mouth shut. She could swear she saw a smile hiding behind the rim of his glass.


	10. Chapter 10

Dinnertime was usually a tranquil hour for Tseng and Yuffie. The late evening light streamed through the windows, casting twisted shadows behind their water glasses and tableware. Yuffie's gaze flicked between her noodles and Tseng several times. She took a deep breath and made a decision.

"So," she began, and her cheer sounded only slightly forced, "tell me about yourself."

His hand stilled on the stack of papers he'd been flipping through. "Sorry...?"

"I said," and this time her voice contained a little more forced, "tell me about yourself. Your favorite color, your pet parakeet named Gertrude, your growing stamp collection."

He stared at her, eyebrows high in disbelief. "Why do you want to know?"

"Tseng," she said, waving her chopsticks dangerously close to his face, "why's everything have to be the Solish Inquisition with you? It's called conversation."

"You've never seemed inclined to know before now," he murmured, appraising her.

She flushed and tried not to fidget with the thick green tablecloth. "We're working together for the next year or so. We sleep in the same bed. I should know more about you."

He smiled a tiny smile, then looked her up and down. She felt pinned like one of Hojo's specimens under his gaze. "I have never had a parakeet, and I would never name my parakeet Gertrude," he said with a hint of disgust. Her eyes fell on a stray hair lying across his forehead.

"Gertrude's an awesome name. You're just a stiff." Immediately after she said it, Yuffie was horrified that she had spoken to Tseng in the same way she might Cid or Vincent.

True to form, he did the unexpected. "Yes, well, I'm a stiff you married." He smiled with just a hint of smug.

"Oh, _burn_. You got me there."

There was a semi-awkward silence. She itched to smooth that rogue lock of hair back over his forehead. He noticed the path of her eyes and re-arranged it himself. She looked away, uneasy again. Yuffie wished she could get over Tseng making her uncomfortable.

He rose, set aside his napkin, and smoothed his robes. "I once had a dog named Fritz, when I was very young. I enjoy playing chess in my free time."

When he turned as if to leave, she blurted, "But you didn't tell me your favorite color."

His black eyes lingered once more on her, and slowly, he said, "I have work to do for the next few hours. My favorite color is red." Then he was gone.

Her kimono today was a bright, healthy red embroidered with white waves.

.

Half an hour after she had entered their bedroom and dressed for sleep, Tseng arrived. Before he had a chance to close the door, she asked, "What kind of dog was Fritz?"

He was not at all surprised by her eagerness, his face placid. "Mid-size mutt."

"What did he look like?"

He stepped behind the privacy screen, and she tried not to imagine him disrobing, which was becoming increasingly difficult as of late. "Skinny, white with brown spots on his face and body."

To distract herself, she settled at the dressing table and looked for her mother-of-pearl comb amid the clutter. "What happened to him?"

"What is your middle name?" he shot back.

Her post-shower tangles did not want to give up. The comb's teeth snagged in her hair, and she winced. "Don't you Turks have a whole file on me? I bet you read it during the day when no one's there."

If it were Cid or Vincent or Reeve, she'd leer and say, "I bet you touch yourself to it," but she preferred to end her evening without a bullet between the eyes.

"I do have some information on you, yes, but it doesn't list your middle name."

She blinked. "Oh. I don't have a middle name. Guess Godo and Mom thought 'Yuffie' was awesome enough on its own."

"I suppose your name does not need adornments. Everyone recognizes your achievements these days."

"I don't really like the way you said achievements," she said, and decided taming her hair was a futile effort. She threw down the comb just as he came out from behind the screen.

To her immense surprise, he moved toward her and plucked her comb from the tabletop.

"What are you…?"

"Do you trust anyone else to do this?" His voice played with the word trust, elongating the sibilants, crisping the t's.

"I don't know if I trust you either," she said, only half-joking.

"Clever," he whispered over the top of her head, stirring her hair at the crown. They lapsed into silence while he combed her hair gently, picking through each snarl with meticulous effort. Yuffie gave up wondering at each strange new turn her life took and decided to enjoy the surreal encounter.

"_Should_ I trust you?" Only when he stilled did she understand she had actually said it aloud.

"That is for you to decide, Empress. Know that your life is literally in my hands."

She wondered what had loosened his tongue tonight: was it their conversation at dinner? The atmosphere—the low lighting and the heater in the corner, dispelling the chill of descending winter?

"My life is in no one's hands but my own," she snapped, feeling like he was needling her on purpose.

"Your life is in the hands of many." His voice, smooth, soothed her. "Will the servants poison your food?" She began to protest, but his hand ghosted down her bare neck and the words died in her throat. "Will the guard lapse his station and allow an assassin into the grounds? Will a passing driver swerve and strike you in the street?"

The comb clattered to the table, and his hands snaked into her hair, kneading her scalp. "I could snap your neck now, if I were so inclined. Every day you do not die, your life is in many, many hands, Yuffie."

She stiffened at his first serious use of her name, and his hands fell from her. "I'm tired," he said plainly. "Will you require further assistance tonight?"

"No." Her voice came out barely above a whisper.

When they climbed into bed and he clicked off the lamp, she watched his back in the night, turning to face his direction. She fell asleep that way, studying the lines of his body in repose. She memorized the slope of his shoulders, his arm, the curve of his spine and the gentle arch of his legs.

.

Yuffie found herself outside his office the next day around noon. Before she could knock, he opened the door, and a look of surprise flitted across his face as his eyes lit on her. "Good afternoon, your highness," he said, and there was a question in his tone.

"Did you, uh," she fumbled, feeling oddly like a little girl asking a boy on a date, "are you hungry? I was wondering if you wanted to get lunch with me."

"I was just going to eat, actually," he said. "Where do you usually take lunch?"

"Either in my office or in our personal dining room," she said. "Where do you usually eat?"

"In the gardens," he replied.

"Oh. Isn't it cold?"

"I wear a coat."

"Oh."

"Come with me."

When he had instructed the kitchen of their whereabouts, he led her to a stone table close to the meditation pond. Koi rushed to the fringes, and he watched them with a pensive expression. Yuffie's breath clouded around her mouth and nose.

She grinned when the servants came out carrying hot cocoa and warm sandwiches. "Eastern food today?"

"I like variety." With this statement, he reached into a bag on the table and pulled out a few slices of stale, crumbling bread. With a flick of his arm, the brilliant koi swarmed, devouring his offering in a bubble riot.

"They seem used to you." Yuffie looked at him as he turned and placed the bag in her hands.

"I come here at the same time every day." She pictured him sitting alone in the garden like a Wuteng showpiece, ink-dark hair sharp against the autumn sky.

He put a sandwich on a small plate and handed it to her. "What's your favorite color?"

"Orange."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Orange?"

"Don't say it like that! Orange is way cooler than any other color."

"Orange is a warm color," he retorted, then took a bite of his sandwich. She was surprised he did not cut it up with a knife and take bites with a fork, but no, Tseng ate sandwiches like any old commoner.

"Pedantic," she muttered.

Both eyebrows arched this time. "I didn't think you knew words like 'pedantic.'"

In the weak winter sun, the smell of mud and decomposing leaves and warm cheese, Yuffie tossed half of her sandwich at his chest. It left a trail of mustard behind as it slid down his robes. Tseng's head tilted down slowly, then his eyes pinned her from underneath his suddenly dangerous brow.

"Hey, uh, you got something on your shirt." She pointed with one finger and stared with wide eyes.

With admirable serenity, he swiped a finger through the mustard, reached out, and brushed it down her neck. She laughed to suppress her initial shiver at his touch. He watched her for a moment, and she got the feeling he had seen anyway. "Did you ever have any pets?"

"I had a fish once. I killed it when I tried to take it tree-climbing."

He stared. "How recently…?"

"I was, like, six, okay? And I cried for three days when Mimi went belly-up, so don't you judge me. I put her in a bag and everything. How was I supposed to know fish are easy to kill?"

He finished wiping the mustard from his finger and held up two placating hands "Very well. What," his voice shifted in tone just a fraction, and she perked to attention, "is your favorite memory of your father?"

Yuffie was taken aback by the question. "Um."

Seeming almost alarmed, he said, "I apologize. I shouldn't have asked that."

"No, no, it's okay. It's just..." She scrubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. "I don't know if I can pick a favorite."

"Please, forget I asked such a personal question." His eyes had widened just slightly, lending him a wary air. Yuffie thought to herself that if there were one commonality all the men she knew shared, it would be the inability to handle tears.

"I want to answer it now, though, so you might as well enjoy it. Let's see..."

She lapsed into memory, her eyes trailing the bricks in the perimeter wall. Her gaze wandered through visions of her father boosting her over and following her, phantasmal images of him levering her into the huge oak tree stealing over her. A hundred different recollections barraged her, and she looked down at her hands and pulled her fingers, cracking each knuckle one at a time as she thought.

"You don't have to answer right now," Tseng said.

"It's going to take me some time to answer that one, sorry."

"No apologies necessary." He shook his head. "I'm the one sorry here."

She smiled a tiny, wavering smile, and their conversation shifted.

.

A month had passed since her father's burial, and Yuffie thought it was high time she visited his grave to pray for guidance.

Tseng and two guards accompanied her to the crowded memorial yard. People in Wutai did not bury their dead like Easterners, giving them instead to the river as she had done with her father. After each loved one found way to the sea, their relatives would pay funeral homes to build a shrine in the memorial gardens.

The afternoon light was warm on her clothes despite the occasional gust of winter wind. Her father's plot had been built among centuries-old royal memorials, and so their driver wound them along the tiny road and into the forest of elaborate, gleaming towers, obelisks, miniature pagodas, and statues. She felt a shiver roll down her spine as each new shrine slid past the car's windows.

At the heart of the memorial garden—where some shrines reached fifteen, even twenty feet tall and featured multiple stories—the car rolled to a stop. Yuffie opened the door for herself and stepped out, a luxury she had not been able to enjoy recently. Her heavy kimonos often made it difficult to step out of cars, especially her father's old vehicle with the low, luxurious seats. Today, though, the kimono she wore had been retailored to be a little more useful than her previous ones. Instead of a dress-like free-moving hem, she had given the order for the bottom to be split like loose, airy pantlegs. They offered her freedom of movement and an illusion of formality.

She tipped her head back as Tseng exited the other side and her two guards got out. Her father's shrine, like many in the gardens, came as part of a pair. Twin dragons, one a rich purple and the other forest green, curved and twined together from the bases to the tops of two small stone towers, each around six feet high. The towers joined at the base, forming a small room with a wide arch. Godo had had this shrine commissioned when Lady Kisaragi died. It was not the fanciest of the memorials in the garden, but it was lovely all the same.

Yuffie nodded her acknowledgement to Tseng. He had discarded the traditional robes today in favor of a sharp black suit—working gear. She was reminded of his Turk persona, and it seemed to create a distance between them. Oddly, she preferred his ceremonial robes, though she hated wearing the apparel herself.

He stayed beside the car as she walked up the small set of stairs to her parents' shrine. Acutely aware that she was still within his line of sight, Yuffie knelt before her father's official shrine portrait. It formed the centerpiece of the inner decor and hung adjacent to a picture of her mother. The two of them looked serious, regal, but their eyes pointed just slightly toward each other.

The shrine smelled like dying flowers. "Dad… how did you _do_ all this? This place is a dump. I'm working on fixing it, but the media attention and the marriage don't exactly make this easy."

She bowed her head till it rested on the cold stone floor. "I hope you're watching this and laughing a little at me. Someone needs to laugh around here. I'm doing everything I can—I _think_ it's getting better here. Not as many people are starving, anyway. We're making jobs, I just need it to happen faster. I need food on people's tables and roofs over their heads.

"This sucks. You know what else sucks? I think I might be starting to like Tseng. He looks like a goddamn model, so that doesn't help. And he had a dog named Fritz. I can't help myself, there's something about tall men with long, girly hair that I just flock to, I guess. I'm such a sucker.

"I don't think he likes me very much. He has no reason to. He's like twelve years older than me, and I have dude-hair and the loudest mouth this side of the Planet. He's kind of talking to me lately, though, so that's a start."

Yuffie was going to say, "Dad, I miss you so much," but a kunai pinged off the rock wall and missed her nose by a bare inch.

"Oh, shit," she breathed, already leaping into movement. There was a small stone bench below the portraits. Luckily, it was not molded to the floor, as her kick proved when it turned over with a crash. Flowerpots, handmade gifts, and paper goods scattered as she dove behind the bench for what meager cover it offered. She heard several more cracks as the metal daggers collided with the stone.

From the front of her robes, she retrieved five small throwing stars and held them deftly between each knuckle. She chanced a quick peek over the bench, her eyes landing on Tseng crouched behind the car, his handgun out and ready. They made eye contact and he gestured, two quick points at ten and two o'clock. She ducked again, just in time as two kunai flew over her head and stuck in the facsimile of her father's chin.

There were two attackers, then. And her guards were out of commission, lying on either side of Tseng with their faces frozen in eternal surprise. She and Tseng were on their own.

"This is my life," she muttered.

The angle at which the attackers had positioned themselves presented a problem. Yuffie and Tseng would have to split up, heading in opposite directions and therefore compromising the defense a united front would supply. Unfortunately, one or both of the assailants had demonstrated a formidable ability with long-range weaponry, and they could not take the chance of turning on one and receiving a back full of kunai. She slid on her belly to the right corner of the bench and peeked around, hoping to get a look before more knives came her way. Tseng's eyes flicked rapidly from her position to the two attackers, and he did not look pleased.

When his gaze landed on her, he held up three fingers. He didn't need to tell her what was coming next. When the third finger went down, she scurried clumsily from behind the bench, flicking three throwing stars in what she hoped was roughly the right direction. The memorial garden had become thick over the years, and it was like a maze filled with perfect hiding places.

As she loosed the shuriken, the report from Tseng's handgun sounded. At least, she hoped it was Tseng's handgun—it could be his opponent's. She sprinted out the doorway, trusting in his ability to defend himself and scanning for good cover. When a kunai whizzed by close enough to ruffle her hair, she made a quick decision and ducked behind a giant stone crane with wings outstretched, a memorial she recognized as belonging to her great Aunt Wu.

She didn't hear anymore kunai, and she thought her opponent might have thrown all of them. She scrambled for more of her throwing stars just as more gunfire sounded and a sword came swinging around the corner. Yuffie barely dodged in time, letting her body go limp to fall out of the way. The blade struck the monument and was followed by a figure in black. She didn't have time to think before the katana was coming down toward her face. She rolled and it stuck in the soft soil.

The assassin—and she was sure it was an assassin now, dressed in black with face covered—took a moment too long dislodging the blade, allowing Yuffie to find her feet again. With one quick hand, she pulled a curved knife from a sheath inside her sleeve. Another one rested flat against her opposite wrist, but the assassin had recovered the sword and swung again. She sidestepped, grabbed the other blade and blocked the next blow with crossed knives.

"You know, all I wanted was to pay my respects to my father," she spat, their weapons stuck in an unsteady deadlock "and now you gotta crash my party."

She hopped back, and without her resistance the katana swung toward the ground. The end barely missed her chest. She jumped and her feet came down on the blade, knocking it from the assassin's hands. Each of her advancing blows missed him, until he ran around one corner of a shrine and escaped her sight.

She pursued him into the thickest area of the memorial gardens. Twice she thought she had cornered him, then a kunai would fly her way. By the time she avoided it, he'd have disappeared again. Finally, Yuffie realized her attacker had led her far enough that she'd lost Tseng. She needed to finish this.

The assassin darted into view for just a second before vanishing behind a pagoda with a low, tiered roof. Instead of following him directly, Yuffie took a running leap and sprang from the low rails beside the stairs to the first eave. She needed to move before he figured out her plans, so she slowed her pace and crept around the corner of the roof. There was not a lot of room to maneuver, but she saw the top of his black-swathed head as she came round.

Yuffie didn't stop to think. She raised her dagger and jumped on him. It sank cleanly between his shoulder blades, and he crumpled beneath her.

She hadn't heard gunfire in a minute or two. Pulling the knife from her attacker's back, she struggled to determine from which direction she had come. The seconds ticked on as she wandered, and she made a split second decision.

"Tseng! Where are you?" Yuffie shouted. She hoped a stray bullet would not find her before she found Tseng.

No answer met her, but she heard the gunfire. Then, she recognized the dragons of her parents' monument. Only, it was their backs. Somehow she and her opponent had circled around to the other side. She couldn't see Tseng and assumed he had taken cover somewhere out of sight.

She crept, knives out, around the side of her parents' shrine. Something blunt pressed against her temple at the same time as an arm went around her neck. "Drop your weapons," said a cold voice, feminine voice.

_Shit_, she thought, stomach dropping. Yuffie had wrongly assumed the other assassin would still be opposite her original position.

Her assailant began to drag her away just as Tseng appeared from behind a miniature Da Chao with the intention of firing another shot. Even from a distance, Yuffie could tell he had been hurt. He was shooting with his left hand, and he seemed to be favoring the opposite side.

As the assassin began dragging her away, he spotted them, eyes widening. Yuffie thought if she made it out of this alive, Tseng might kill her himself for getting caught.

The woman holding her captive called, "Lower your weapon or Lady Kisaragi dies."

She took a deep breath, expecting some sort of negotiation. Instead, Yuffie was surprised when Tseng lifted his gun in his left hand and fired in less time than it took for her to blink. The grip holding her went slack, and body hit the ground with a thud. She whirled, then turned away when she saw the mess he had made of the woman's face.

She cleared her throat in a delicate manner as Tseng reached her at a light jog. "Nice shot."

"Are you hurt?" he said, searching her with his eyes.

"I'm totally fine," she said, waving a hand. "How'd you know it wouldn't miss?"

"I don't miss."

"You're right-handed, though."

"I don't miss," he said again, eyes gleaming, a small smile making an appearance.

She warred with herself: roll her eyes, or let herself look impressed? Yuffie settled for the first. "I wonder why she didn't just kill me."

"She was taking you somewhere," Tseng said.

"She might have been using me as leverage for the other guy," she said. "No way she could've known I already took care of him."

He knelt and rifled through the woman's pockets with his left hand. "Perhaps," he said, and she wondered at his thoughtful tone. Standing up again looked difficult for him. "We have to leave."

She was distracted by the thick trails of blood dripping from the fingers of his right hand to the ground below them. "Tseng, your arm!"

"That is also an issue, yes." He swallowed, and she noticed the sickly pallor of his skin. "I'm in no shape to fight in the event of another assault."

Yuffie didn't say that if he died, he would be even more disqualified from battle. Instead, she said, "Get in the car. I'll drive." Genuinely concerned at how pale he looked, she ushered him to the car. She worried she couldn't a good sense of his blood loss under the dark clothes.

She swallowed the expression, not wanting him to see her concern. "Try not to puke everywhere. Da Chao knows I've done it enough already."

Yuffie wove through the sluggish downtown traffic, cutting off a couple of angry drivers in the process. She winced at every pothole and bump jostling Tseng in the passenger seat. She squealed to a stop at the palace gates. It occurred to her to try driving across the lawn straight to the front steps, but she didn't think Tseng would appreciate the jostling. Plus, it would be all over the news.

Tseng looked a little spacey, and she worried he might be losing too much blood. "Come on, we're here. Let's get you to Chekov," she coaxed as he struggled to move from the deep, normally-comfortable bucket seat which now confined him.

The front guards helped her get him out of the seat. One of them tucked himself under Tseng's arm. "Your highness, what—"

"No time for questions, get him to Chekov now!" she barked. "You," she said to the other, "get some help."

Due to the unique nature of Wutai's ancient, battle-hardened culture, the palace had a hospital wing. After several agonizing minutes of moving Tseng in that direction, two guards materialized with a stretcher.

"No," Tseng managed to say as his tired eyes lit on it.

"Get on the stretcher," Yuffie growled. "Now."

When his brows lowered and he tried to shake his head again, she said sharply, "Tseng. It's faster. Please."

After a moment, he nodded and they eased him onto the stretcher. A minute later, Chekov met them at the door. "What's happened this time?"

"He's been shot in the shoulder," Yuffie said breathlessly.

Chekov sighed like they were little kids causing trouble and ushered them in. She had served as the palace's medic-in-residence since before she was one of the Mighty Gods. It was a position she had trained for since a very young age.

She began stripping away Tseng's suit jacket and white undershirt. Yuffie did not see the wound until Chekov peeled the cloth from Tseng's right shoulder. She stared.

"The bullet is lodged in his shoulder. I'll have to get it out. Hold him down."

He tensed beneath her as she touched him, then arched his back as Chekov stuck a needle in the destroyed flesh near his wound. He relaxed as the area began to numb, the local anesthetic taking effect.

"Brace yourself, Emperor. It will not block the pain entirely."

Yuffie sucked in through her teeth, a long hiss as Chekov dug deep into the wound to retrieve the bullet. Tseng stiffened but made no sound until she was finished, when he let out a small sigh of relief and tipped his head back against the bed, his face tight. Yuffie stood and pinched one of the sleeves on Tseng's discarded clothes, frowning at the amount of blood smeared on her thumb and index finger.

"Chekov…?"

"Now, he needs stitching.

"What can I do?"

"Stay out of my way," she said, brusque. This was Chekov's territory. There were no obstacles to backflip over or targets to pin to the wall with shuriken here. Yuffie started for the door, meaning to leave until Tseng's stare snagged her.

A bit of blood had smeared across his chin somehow, standing out starkly against his pale face. It lent him an odd air of vulnerability. Yuffie was struck by the thought that of all the people who could have been there for her today, Tseng had been the only one. She had the Mighty Gods, and she had her friends only a phone call away, but as far as someone to save her ass, Tseng was it. That meant she had to be the one to watch Tseng's back.

After a moment of deliberation, she strode forward and took his hand, seating herself in the chair beside his bed. He tensed. Besides lying awkwardly across him, she had never initiated contact with him before this moment. He met her eyes again, and she stared him down, unblinking.

"I can leave if you like," she said, falsely nonchalant.

He shook his head, and she could see his exhaustion in the sluggish movement. Chekov moved the needle through his skin, and he barely seemed to notice. She hoped the anesthetic was working.

"It's a good thing," she began quietly, then hesitated and tried again. "It's a good thing she didn't kill you."

He chuckled, a slight rumble of his chest and nothing more. "I agree."

"Don't go dying on me, okay? I'd be kind of screwed if you did."

"Do not concern yourself over me," he said, voice weary beyond his years.

"Well, if I don't… who will? I have to protect you."

"I thought I—" He looked over to Chekov pulling the needle from his skin and winced, then looked back to Yuffie. "—was protecting you."

"Who gave you a stupid idea like that?" At this, a rare, genuine smile spread across his face, and her stomach twisted. "Figures you only smile like that after you scared the shit out of me."

"My apologies, my—" He hung there for a brief moment. "My apologies, Yuffie."


	11. Chapter 11

**Author Note: **Hello again, everyone! I'm so sorry for the brief hiatus. Mid-terms and then a weeklong trip to visit family interrupted my posting schedule. Also, apologies – the first scene of this chapter should have ended the last chapter, but somehow I messed up when dividing the master document. I hope you enjoy it all the same. Also, for those of you who are diligent with my grammar and typos, I apologize for the state of the last chapter. I'm cleaning up the mess =P

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Later, in their rooms, Yuffie resisted the urge to hover. Chekhov had made it very clear that Tseng needed several weeks for his shoulder to heal properly, and that would only work if he stayed in bed and didn't overexert himself. Yuffie had already placed bets to herself on how long it would be before Tseng could no longer take being coddled and returned to his office.

"I'm not an invalid," Tseng said sleepily, his heart not in the protest. "I just need—" A huge yawn cracked his sentence in half. "—some time to heal. I can walk."

"What makes you think you need to tell me that?"

"You're hovering."

"I am not hovering."

"Then you're fidgeting."

His drooping eyelids snapped open long enough to give her a pointed look. She stopped pulling open the third drawer on her dressing table and realized she had already opened the previous two and strewn the contents across the countertop.

"Um."

Tseng's lips stretched into a dreamy half-smile as he drifted toward sleep again. He had a vulnerable look about him that pulled at her heart in a way she would rather not examine. Impulsively, she took four steps and then clambered into bed with him before he could protest.

"What are you doing?" he slurred. Yuffie wouldn't be surprised if Chekhov had slipped him a mild sedative.

"Shhh. Get some rest."

After a few minutes, his breathing deepened. Yuffie inched closer to him, suppressing a yawn. She was feeling the effects of the day, though not nearly as much as Tseng must be.

When she was sure he was asleep, she made a quick decision and reached forward to hold his hand resting on the covers. Shortly after that, she fell asleep.

She dreamed her body was bathed in a warm light, that scales the color of the sea on a clear day sheathed her skin.

.

Yuffie had a meeting scheduled with the Mighty Gods the next morning. She was not enjoying it for a variety of reasons. At the moment, she was having difficulty explaining her two dead guards and the two dead assassins in the memorial garden.

Gorki rubbed his huge hands over his face, pinking his skin. "We'll have to do damage control with this one before the media has a field day, my lady."

"I know. The cops were suspicious enough. The chief said, 'again?' I think he expects me to just leave dead bodies on the doorstep like party favors."

Shake sniggered, and Chekhov rolled her eyes.

"We must discuss the possible motives," Staniv said. He stroked his severe facial hair, a sign of his complex thoughts.

"Funny you should mention that!" Yuffie chirped, her voice notably nervous. "I brought someone to help us."

Gorki struggled not to smirk. "It's a shame the art of subtlety is utterly lost on you."

Yuffie glared at him as she stood. Three steps took her to the door. She opened it to reveal Tseng.

Shake's humor evaporated. "What's he doing here?"

"Well, Shake, as _he_ is the Emperor, I thought it might be time to include him in affairs of the state."

"That is _not_," Shake snarled, "why he's here."

Shocking Yuffie, Chekhov spoke up in her sharp voice. "Pray tell, Shake, why _is_ he here?"

"To sell our secrets to the Shinra!" he declared, standing and slamming his open palms on the tabletop with enough force to rattle Gorki's cup of coffee. "What other reason could he have?"

For his part, Tseng stood quietly as Yuffie barked, "Shake, you will have respect for your emperor!"

At the use of Tseng's title, Shake's face flushed very dark. "I will never," his voice shook with fury, "bow to this dog of—"

"_SHAKE!_" she roared. "Get out of this conference, and get out of my sight!"

The fire did not go out of him at her reprimand. Instead, he stared at her, tight-lipped, knuckles white on the edge of the table. When she did not back down from his gaze after a long moment, he pivoted smartly and stalked from the room. Tseng stepped out of the doorframe but not before Shake jostled his injured shoulder hard. He did not react visibly, stepping into the room and bowing deeply.

"My extreme apologies, Honorable Ones."

Staniv cleared his throat, stood, and bowed in return. "There is no need to apologize, your highness. You are beyond welcome at these meetings."

Gorki did not look as convinced as Staniv sounded, but he said nothing. Chekhov had on her legendary poker face.

Tseng rose from his bow and took the now-empty chair to Yuffie's right. She narrowed her eyes at him, wondering if that might have been a purposeful move on his part. He merely nodded to her, though, a minute tip of the head.

"Now that that's over with," Yuffie said, "I believe we can get on with this. Tseng, before you came in, we were talking about possible motives for the attacks yesterday."

Tseng nodded again. "Have you fully debriefed the Mighty Gods?"

"No. I was hoping you could do that for me."

"Very well." His expression sharpened as he looked at each of them in turn, placing his good hand on the table in a relaxed pose. "Yesterday at around oh-fourteen-hundred hours, Lady Kisaragi and I arrived at the memorial garden to pay respects to Lord Godo. Approximately seven minutes after arrival, we were attacked. The first assailant, a long-range combatant, initiated the conflict by throwing kunai in the Empress' direction.

"The second, a male, did not appear to be working in tandem with the woman. As our two escorts had already been murdered, we split up to take care of them. After the Empress had disposed of the man, the woman attempted to take her hostage. I did not comply with the female assailant's requests that I lay down my weapon, though I had sustained a bullet-wound to my left shoulder."

He paused, flexed the fingers on his left hand, and said, "I shot her and freed Yuffie." The longer pause indicated his story was finished.

Yuffie jumped in. "We didn't find any identification on the man's body," she said. "But we didn't get a chance to check the woman."

"I presume because of Lord Kisaragi's injury," Chekhov said.

Gorki turned his gaze to Tseng. "You say _you_ took down the woman?"

"That's correct."

"With your left hand? Which hand do you shoot with?"

Yuffie grinned with immense pleasure. "His right."

"Well then," Gorki said, after a moment of silence. He cleared his throat and seemed to move on. "We've taken the bodies into custody. No identification was discovered on either suspect, and their faces do not appear in any database."

"No leads, then?" Yuffie just narrowly avoided cursing in front of her honorable peers.

"No leads."

She sighed. "So we have _no_ idea who might be trying to kill me?"

"Or kidnap you," Staniv pointed out.

"This indicates there might, in fact, be more than one group targeting you."

"Chekhov, don't _say_ that," Yuffie groaned. "Just what I need. People trying to snatch me and people trying to stick me full of daggers."

"Nevertheless," Gorki said, exasperated, "we will continue to investigate. From now on, I think it would be a good idea if you did not leave the palace unless absolutely necessary, your highness."

Yuffie groaned but knew there would be no arguing with Gorki. The rest of the Mighty Gods and Tseng would, no doubt, agree with him. She had to admit that every time she tried to leave the grounds, she got shot at.

"There is another matter we must discuss, your highness," Staniv said, pulling out a sheaf of very official-looking papers. They practically reeked of money matters. "Funding."

"Oh, gods, funding," she groaned, dropping her head into her hands.

"While we all admire your efforts toward rebuilding the school system in the capital and surrounding areas, my queen, I'm not sure if we have the money to finish this project you've started, however necessary it's been."

"Is there nowhere else we can cut the budget and funnel toward this project?" she asked, at a loss. Yuffie had been aware of the money problems, of course; they were, primarily, what stood in her way for change in Wutai. "If we gun for education, _everything _will benefit. I just know it."

In full Head Accountant mode, Staniv massaged the bridge of his nose. "I have done all I can with our current funds, your highness."

"May I make a suggestion?" Tseng interjected smoothly.

"Go on," Gorki said, after a cautious glance at Yuffie, who smiled just a bit.

"The palace seems to have a rich cultural history. I've seen paintings and sculptures here that must be hundreds of years old."

"I can't seem to get rid of Great Aunt Wu's portrait," Yuffie muttered.

Tseng glanced at her with what she swore was amusement, but he did not miss beat. "If you feel that any of these historical items are expendable, I propose we hold an auction, the proceeds of which would go toward building, staffing, stocking, and opening new schools."

"Yeah, but… who would buy that crap?"

Chekhov shot Yuffie a severe look. Yuffie wondered, for the millionth time, if Chekhov had anything besides severe looks. Tseng shrugged one shoulder. "Actually, I've been surprised over the years at what people will pay to get their hands on something labeled historical."

"It's settled then!" Yuffie clapped her hands together and beamed at Tseng. "Staniv, you and me got an auction to plan."

.

"That went well, I think," Yuffie mused.

Tseng tipped his head as they traveled to the hospital wing. Chekhov had said she would meet them there after she nipped down to the kitchens and ordered lunch. "Shake, however…"

She shrugged, scowling. "Forget Shake."

"Are you sure pushing for my acceptance is worth jeopardizing your friendship with Shake?"

Surprised, Yuffie tried to keep her eyebrows from shooting up. "That's nice of you, but Shake needs to recognize my authority _and_ yours. We need a united front, and the Mighty Gods are an important part of making this work in the long haul."

"I hardly think a year is 'the long haul,'" Tseng remarked.

Yuffie's stomach dropped, and she struggled not to show her embarrassment at her gaff. These days, when she looked toward the future, she automatically envisioned Tseng as being part of it. "Well," she tried, going for natural, "a year's long enough anyway, and he needs to get used to me making decisions he doesn't like. It's obnoxious the way he's acting."

Her husband slanted a look at her as if to say she was one to talk about being obnoxious, so she punched him on his left arm. "Shut up, you."

They had arrived in the hospital wing for Chekhov to check the progress of his wounds and change the bandages. Yuffie could have checked and redressed Tseng's shoulder herself had changed bandages many times in her battle-peppered life, but Chekhov was always a complete control freak about any patient brought into her care.

As they walked through the door, Chekhov arrived, bustling Tseng over to the bed with just a look. Yuffie followed to observe.

"You know I could just do this myself," she said to Chekhov as Tseng removed his outer robes to reveal the bandages. Yuffie very carefully did not stare at his chest, focusing hard on the bandages around his shoulder.

"Do you have somewhere to be, my lady?" she replied sharply. Yuffie opened her mouth to reply that she _always_ had somewhere to be, since she was the _Empress_, but Chekhov cut her off. "I think not. You can afford a few minutes for my personal care."

Tseng shot her a questioning expression, and Yuffie smiled. "She's always been like this. I _fondly_ recall being her patient when I was little."

"And I _fondly_ recall you being the worst patient I have ever treated," Chekhov retorted.

She scowled. "That is _so_ not true. You're a tyrant." The bandages were falling away, almost to the skin now.

"And you're a brat," she said without even looking . "Now, let's just take a peek at the…"

As Chekhov's sentence faded half-finished, Yuffie stared openly at Tseng's shoulder. His wound had all but disappeared. There was some scabbing, but the bullet-hole did not have the puffy red of recently stitched skin.

"That's interesting," Tseng said into the silence.

Yuffie blurted, "Have the Turks been treated with mako?"

He shook his head. "No."

"So you're just badass on your own then." She grinned at him, and his lips curled up, just so.

"Excuse me," Chekhov interjected. "How did this happen? Your wound should look like this weeks from now, not overnight."

Yuffie shrugged at the same time as Tseng said, "I have no idea."

With a deadpan expression, Chekhov stared. "Praise Leviathan, we have a miracle."

At Chekhov's words, something stirred in Yuffie's middle, something snakelike and content. In her surprise, Yuffie rubbed her abdomen and frowned. She had trouble, sometimes, discerning the god's emotions, but the water dragon seemed… self-satisfied. Yuffie wasn't too familiar with this emotion.

"Are you all right?" Tseng asked, as Chekhov poked and prodded at his shoulder.

"Just hungry," Yuffie said a bit too quickly.

He did not look at her for so long it seemed strange, though. He nodded, then turned to Chekhov. "Is there anything more to be done? I believe my queen and I must attend lunch."

Chekhov swiped a hand over her severe hairstyle, smoothing the gray strands back toward the bun. "Let me just rewrap this shoulder, and you can go. There's not really anything else I can do but stare."

.

The Pagoda had a small meditation room. Yuffie loved the way the skinny blue Leviathan carved into the floor molding actually looped the entire room and devoured its own tail.

Meditating before bed helped stave off nightmares of her father dying, of Meteor hitting, of Aeris's death. She hadn't dreamed of Aeris dying since she was about nineteen, but with the stress she'd been under lately, she'd been revisiting many of the negative periods in her life. She woke at least once a week with visions of long brown hair disappearing below the surface of the lake.

However useful meditation proved for clearing her mind before sleep or serious state business, this particular session was for a different purpose. Chekhov prowled the room around her, hawkish eyes trained on Yuffie as she paced.

"I feel like I'm back in training," Yuffie muttered.

"You are," Chekhov said, pausing in her endless circling to stare Yuffie down. "Now clear your mind."

Five minutes passed. Ten. Yuffie tried not to fidget. The end of her right big toe really itched, though. She wiggled it, then yelped when Chekhov slapped her across the top of the head.

"I said clear your mind! What is so difficult about this exercise? Your father and mother before you, and their fathers and mothers before them had the ability to clear their minds, no matter how foolish they were. Can you not master this simple task?"

"I can! Just let me concentrate." Her ears still ringing, Yuffie reflected that she really was back in training school if Chekhov was smacking her around.

Another five minutes, ten. Fifteen. Yuffie could feel herself teetering on the brink of a true meditative trance, but she couldn't quite breach it. Frustrated, she threw her hands into the air and rolled onto her back. Her crossed arms managed to block Chekhov's next strike.

"Wait!" she cried. "I'm trying, I really am! Something's wrong!"

Chekhov's threatening hand still hovered over Yuffie's defenseless form. "What's _wrong_ is that you need to organize your mind. The only obstacle is yourself."

"No, really, Chekhov. Trust me. Something's not right this time, and it hasn't been for weeks."

"You've been experiencing a block for weeks, and you haven't told me?" Chekhov rolled her eyes. "Idiot."

Instead of smacking her again, Chekhov pushed Yuffie into an upright position and sat across from her charge with only a small groan. Her knees creaked, and when she saw Yuffie's lifted eyebrows, she said, "I'm getting too old for this job."

"No way. You're immortal."

"I am not immortal. I am sixty-one. Which is why I need you fully-trained so I can retire already. Staniv too."

Trying to imagine her life without Chekhov and Staniv to guide her would be, in Yuffie's mind, like trying to fly the _Highwind_ through a hurricane and only just realizing as she entered the first set of tornadoes that A) she didn't actually know how to fly an airship, and B) the wings had vanished. She shook the thought from her mind and chose to focus on the present, lest she get all weepy and Chekhov slap her again.

Surprising her, Chekhov reached out and took Yuffie's hands in her claw-like grasp. "I want you to try again. Clear your mind. Focus."

Yuffie breathed deeply, in through her nose, letting her exhales filter softly from her open mouth. She took solace in the cool, dry hands encasing hers. Just how long had it been since anyone had touched her with any real care?

The minutes passed, this time, without her counting them. She could feel herself on the brink again, standing at the edge of a chasm in her mind. At the bottom, something gleamed, rope-like coils winding and slithering over each other in an endless tangle. She wanted to spread her arms and fall into the depths, but her feet would not move.

After a long time at the precipice of her consciousness, Yuffie retreated and resurfaced to find Chekhov staring at her with narrowed eyes.

"You're glowing," her mentor said with a small smile.

Yuffie was aware, suddenly, that the gleam in Chekhov's eyes was not mischief, but rather the reflection of her own body. Every inch of her skin gave off a faint but noticeable pale blue light.

She sucked in a breath, aware of everything in the room: the air drafting about her bare neck from the open windows, the soft mat beneath her legs, even the subtle bunch of fabric behind her bent knees. "What the…?"

"And yet I sense that you are still blocked. Yuffie, let me tell you something."

She refocused on Chekhov. "Uh, yeah?" It was very hard to concentrate with this new, enhanced sensory-input.

"You wield a connection to Leviathan the likes of which I have never seen. The Kisaragi family has always been well-liked by him, but you, in particular, have done much for this country and for his name. You have saved the planet three times over, and as this country's Empress, our God expects much more from you."

"Oh, cool, no pressure then." She flexed her fingers in front of her face, watching the light blue after-images her lantern skin left in the air.

Chekhov scowled. "Pay attention. You have not mastered the connection yet, or the influx of power this connection will lend you, but even here in the beginning stages you have far outstripped your father when he was your age. I knew you would when you bested the Pagoda at only sixteen."

Yuffie's eyes widened. She knew from the stories that her own father had waited until age twenty to ascend the Pagoda. Even then, he had set a record for power. She hadn't thought before about her own youthful victory; she'd just been relieved to get through it without killing anyone or herself. Mostly, she'd been pleased at the look of genuine respect in her father's eyes when she stood over him at the end of their fight.

"Now get back to work, you lazy child. I want to know what's blocking you."

The glow had faded during Chekhov's speech. Yuffie made to close her eyes and concentrate again, but Chekhov squeezed sharply at one of her hands. "No, no. This will require talking."

"About…?"

"Your _feelings_."

Even as Chekhov said the word with palpable disgust, Yuffie was struggling to get out of her grip. "Oh, no. No way. We're not doing this."

"We _are_ doing this, so sit. Tell me, how are things in the bedroom with the Emperor?"

Yuffie almost fell flat on her face, caught as she was in a half-sitting, half-standing escape position. As it was, she choked on her own spit and almost had a heart attack then and there. Chekhov released her long enough to pound her soundly on the back and usher her back into a sitting position.

"As I suspected," she said crisply.

"_What's_ as you suspected? Oh, god, this is the worst thing ever. This is worse than Sephiroth. This is worse than Heidegger's underwear. This is worse than Palmer's lard collection."

"Are you quite finished?"

"No! We're not discussing my sex-life! Nope, no, and no."

"If you try to leave again, I will make sure you can't."

Once, when Yuffie was ten years old and climbing trees instead of going to lessons, Chekhov had caught her and temporarily paralyzed her from the waist down with a couple of precise jabs to pressure points on her young charge's body. Yuffie had been terrified and had never skived off again. Though she was older, stronger, and more seasoned now, Yuffie wasn't quite sure of her chances against a master of healing and _un_-healing the body like Chekhov.

"Fine. Go ahead. I'll just go commit seppuku afterward."

"You've never consummated the marriage."

Head now in her hands, Yuffie muttered something unintelligible.

"What was that? Speak clearly to your elders!"

"I said _no!_ No I haven't! That is to say, _we_. We haven't. Why does it _matter? _You're the only one besides me and Tseng to know that. What does any of this have to do with Leviathan?"

"You will not master the link until you connect with your husband."

"Don't tell me Leviathan's a sexist bastard too," Yuffie spat. "What, do I have to pork Tseng to gain my true powers or something?"

Eyebrows higher than probably healthy, Chekhov said, "No, you do not have to _pork_ the Emperor. I simply meant for you to have a connection with him. This power is yours to control and wield, but I know that you need companionship. In your need, you've created a spiritual block for yourself."

"I can do just fine by myself, Chekhov. I don't need—"

She held up a threatening hand. "I never said you couldn't. I meant that you thrive on it. You need to be of sound mind and body to harness Leviathan's gift to you. Being in a loveless marriage with your friends continents away is killing you."

Yuffie lay back on her mat and stared at the ceiling, surprisingly plain for all the Pagoda's decorative splendor. There was some comfort in counting the mundane slats of the ceiling above her. _One, two, three, god, somebody please kill me, four, five, six, why am I doing this…_

"Suppose you're right. I'm never going to access Leviathan. A romantic relationship is out of the question. Not that I want one," she said quickly, to Chekhov's skeptical look, "and a friendship sounds just as unlikely. He's like a statue, I swear."

Even as she described him as a statue, she felt guilty, remembering the offering of his cloak on the roof, remembering his help in dismantling her elaborate robes and hair. He protected her, even helped her when necessary, sure, but they didn't know enough about each other to be friends. She wondered if Tseng even knew how to be someone's friend.

Chekhov shrugged, brushed her legs off, and stood. "Not my problem."

"Bu—wha—I thought—"

"Figure it out, _your highness_. If you really want the control, if you really deserve the Kisaragi legacy, you will figure it out for yourself."

And then she was gone, the door banging shut behind her, leaving Yuffie alone, as usual, with her mounting frustration.


	12. Chapter 12

That night, well after he had fallen asleep, Yuffie curled her hand around Tseng's again. The day's meditations, the encounter with Leviathan and Chekhov and the revelation that she would need Tseng to unlock her family's power—all of it had culminated into a pressing need for human touch. He didn't make a move, and his breathing didn't change, and she hoped he was really asleep.

No sooner had she drifted off than she found herself in the midst of an intricate dream.

Leviathan was in her—no, she _was_ Leviathan, sliding through water so deep and so vast she felt as though she were flying. She snapped up smaller fish up and swallowed them like jelly beans, letting them ride the roller coaster of her serpentine tongue and into her gullet. She absorbed not only their precious nutrients and sustenance, but also their life forces, energy assimilating into her own, greater power.

Destruction and creation twined as she ruled the ocean. She birthed creatures from a swift dart of her eye, destroyed them with a sigh.

When she became bored with her millennia-old games, she took to the air, and with a rear of her head, made an island full of people to worship her. She watched the generations form and clash, and she watched the other gods create their lands and fall from favor with their peoples, all the while remaining strong in the heart of her land.

She watched the birth and rebirth of royal families which ruled and fell from grace and ruled again. Her interest in some waned while some she favored. She watched for many years, until the scenes and the towns and the people began to look familiar.

She saw Kisaragi Godo, and she saw Wutai shredded by war with the Shinra. She roared in her grief, at the destruction, at her newest scion's inability to fully harness her power. In truth, no scion had been able to harness the power for three hundred years.

When the child of Kisaragi Godo wriggled in his arms for the first time, shiny and wrinkled and squalling, a beacon flashed and called. She felt the welcome light of new hope and settled in to wait. The growth to adulthood would be a bat of an eyelash in the centuries for her.

Yuffie's eyelids snapped open as consciousness surged through her. She registered several sensations at once.

First, Tseng's hand gripped hers in an almost painful embrace. Second, he stared at her with narrowed eyes, which seemed illuminated in some strange light. Third, the strange light seemed to be coming not from behind her or above her or from the window, but from Yuffie herself.

As alarm spiked through her, she felt—rather than really _saw_—the light dim. As the glow faded from Tseng's eyes completely, leaving them black and no less unsettling than before, she tried to free her hand from his grip. Reluctantly, he released her, and she remained in place. If she got up now, would it seem suspicious?

"Good morning," she said. The time on the bedside clock read 06:30 am. The sun was just beginning to lighten the horizon outside her window, hence the gray light filtering through the curtains.

"Tell me what just happened," he replied, forgoing pleasantries. Though he was lying on his side facing her as he had been in sleep, he seemed intimidating somehow.

"I don't know what you mean," she said. "Are you feeling okay?"

He ignored her deflecting question, his brows furrowed. "That light just now…" He hesitated. "Why could I… feel it?"

In truth, she had a funny feeling she knew why she had been glowing and why he could "feel" it, but a lifetime of training had its hooks in her brain, and a lifetime of distrusting Shinra settled onto her skin like a suffocating blanket.

"Tseng, I honestly don't know what you're talking about." She made to rise from the bed, and he reached out and grabbed her wrist. Yuffie stopped as he sat up.

"Tell me what you're hiding from me," he said. He might have sounded threatening, except for the strangely sincere way he stared at her, dark eyes searching.

"Let me go, Tseng," she breathed.

He dropped her wrist abruptly, and she stood. It took her three steps to get to the door, and she halted when he said, "I can't protect you if you don't tell me everything."

She opened the door and fled, barely registering she was still in her pajamas as an odd feeling of guilt chased her.

That night as she suited up for a discreet mission, Tseng caught her. Yuffie had stayed out of his way for most of the day, but he opened the door just as she slipped her tight black shirt over her head.

He stopped, his gaze intent on her. She knew from the pinched look of him he was more than a little frustrated with her at the moment. Part of Yuffie cringed at chipping away the small kernel of trust she'd nourished between herself and Tseng, and the rest of her latched on to her secrets and kept them close.

Considering how mysterious Tseng still felt to her, Yuffie didn't think this was entirely unreasonable.

"Where are you going?" he asked in clipped tones, his black eyes cataloguing her movements and dress in one sweep. So observant. She wondered if she would ever completely stop fearing it.

"How do you know I'm going somewhere?" she said, all sweet and wide-eyed innocence.

"You're suiting up and you dismissed the door-guards so no one will know you're going," he said, without any sort of surprise.

She scowled. He read her entirely too well. "Gorki gave me some information, and I don't feel like waiting to hear back from a reconnaissance team on this one. They'll probably fuck it up anyway, they always do on this delicate stuff." The mattress dipped beneath her as she sat to pull on her boots and lace them. She noted with pleasure how supple the knee-high leather babies were. They'd be nice and quiet.

"Information?" Despite the cool tones of his voice and the arched brow, she knew she had oiqued his curiosity.

"Yep," she said cheerfully.

When it became clear that she didn't intend to elaborate, he turned on his heel and made to leave. "I won't disturb you further."

Her soft heart twisted a little. "Tseng, wait."

He stopped at the door, his back turned to her. She stared into the deep green of his haori, the the stark black cranes studded across his shoulders. He always looked born and bred for Wutai, while she felt like this week's Bargain Hunter Special on Empresses.

"Gorki told me today he thinks he's located a small hub for Dust-dealing in Wutai."

"What makes you think you'll find anything a recon team won't?" he asked, finally turning toward her.

She finished lacing her left boot and sat up, spreading her hands with a cheeky grin. "I'm the Great Ninja Yuffie Kisaragi. Duh."

Was she imagining the shadow of a smile on his face? "I know you'll be up all night worrying about me and stuff, but don't worry. I'm just going to stake the place out, see what it looks like."

"Does Gorki know you're doing this?" His hand dropped from the doorknob. Now she had him interested.

Yuffie averted her eyes and told the truth. "I told him I had to talk it over with you first."

"I see."

"So here I am. You know, talking to you first." She tied her favorite blue bandanna into her hair, feeling for the first time in a while as if she were in her element. Tonight, there would be no posturing, no manners and airs. She would just be herself, in her natural habitat, one of the best ninjas Wutai had ever spawned. "Look, I know it's tempting, but no partying while I'm gone, and especially no hot babes. It'll be all over the tabloids by tomorrow morning: Ex Dog of the Shinra Gets Laid, and Not By His Wife."

Tseng stared at her, apparently nonplussed by her high spirits and chattering mood. She hadn't been this energetic in a while. She put the brakes on a bit, deciding to save her energy for the actual run. "Sorry," she said. "I can't help myself when I get all jazzed up to go on a run."

"How long before you leave?"

Thinking this an odd question, she shrugged. "I'm ready to go, but if you need me for a bit, I can wait."

"Give me ten minutes to prepare." Tseng went to the wardrobe as he said this, rummaging through it and opening a small compartment. From it, he pulled a few articles of black clothing before disappearing behind the changing screen. Stunned by this turn of events, Yuffie could only watch with gaping mouth as he emerged from behind the screen wearing a sleek ensemble comprised of a fitted, long-sleeved black shirt, slimming black pants, and black socks. His inky black hair had been tied at the nape of his neck, accentuating his high cheekbones.

"You... want to go with me?" she murmured, still shocked.

"If it will keep you safe, I'm going," he said firmly.

"Right," she said, feeling almost disappointed. Of course he wouldn't just want to come with her for fun or anything. _Yuffie, you're the only weirdo who would ever think spying on an underground drug ring is fun_, she thought. _Well... maybe Reno would agree with me_.

True to his word, it only took Tseng about ten minutes of traveling the room and picking up various devices and equipment and attaching them to himself. She observed him holstering two handguns on his person, one at his hip and one at the shoulder. He clipped on a belt with extra rounds, and slipped on some lethal-looking black leather gloves. His boots were not quite as high-cut and girly as hers were, but they still had a sexy effect that had her swallowing and trying to think of something else. Like dead kittens. Or Barret naked.

Though Yuffie felt high and tight with excitement, she knew in the back of her brain that her good cheer had not necessarily mended the new rift between them. She hoped that with time he would forgive her her secrets. An image of the safe in his office floated through her mind's eye. _It's only fair he forgives me my secrets, considering the entire collection he has._

"Now, I dunno if you know how to get out of here without being seen, but I've got some primo—"

"If you mean the roof exit, you'll recall I already know. It's a wonder half the palace doesn't know already," he said with a wry tilt of his lips.

"What do you mean, 'it's a wonder'? That's a closely-guarded Princess Secret, my friend. The only reason you know about it's because you're a nosy-ass Turk who follows me around everywhere and—" Seeing the look on his face, she swallowed her next words and changed tack— "totally saves my ass all the time. Yep."

"Indeed," he drawled, eyes narrow. She could've sworn she saw amusement in his face, but it vanished the next moment quicker than water in Corel.

"Well, if you know everything so well, lead the way," she said, waving her arm in a courtly manner.

Before they reached the door, though, Yuffie stopped, involuntarily putting a hand on his arm as a thought occurred to her. "Tseng," she said.

"What is it?"

"What about your shoulder?" she said. "Are you sure you're well enough to do this?"

Then, he did something that surprised her. In one quick motion, he stepped back from her and pulled his shirt over his head, leaving his upper body bare. Before she had time to appreciate the sight, he did a one-eighty so she could see the bullet's exit wound.

"Holy shit," she whispered. "How?"

The wound was gone, stitches and all. If Yuffie hadn't seen him almost bleed to death with her own eyes, and if not for the faint pink shadow where the wound had been, she might have thought he'd never been hurt in the first place.

In response to her question, he shrugged and said, "You tell me." Then, he put his shirt back on and led her out the door before she could truly process what had just happened.

A shred of her dream from the past night filtered back to her, and Yuffie thought about the blue glow she'd been emanating this morning. Had she somehow used Leviathan's powers to heal him? If so, could she figure out how to do it and use it again when they needed it? She filed this information away for later when she could speak to Chekhov.

They made it to her secret roof exit without encountering very many people. Twice they had to hide from routine guard patrols, checking the halls for intruders and general tomfoolery. She was glad for the increased security what with all the activity as of late, but she didn't particularly enjoy clinging to the ceiling spread-eagled.

"I don't like how easy it is to sneak past them," Yuffie mumbled as Tseng emerged from a nearby closet. She wasn't quite sure how he had stuffed himself in there with all the cleaning supplies, but she supposed better him than her. "I'll have to talk to Gorki about palace security. Again."

Tseng shrugged. "I can't fault them for missing us."

"Why?"

He slanted her a glance and said, "I believe you call yourself the 'Great Ninja' Yuffie, yes?"

She shot him a quick victory pose and then jogged to catch up with him, disgruntled at his total lack of reaction. "That's me."

"And of course, I'm the head of the Turks."

Weighing his words for a minute, she finally said, "Eh, I guess you're right. We're pretty awesome." The genuine warmth in his smile surprised her.

When they had reached the roof exit and successfully scaled the garden wall without being seen, Yuffie felt herself relax just a bit. Truth be told, the guards _had_ been improving in their work lately. Twice recently she'd attempted to sneak into the back gardens for an anonymous evening stroll and been caught by her own protectors. Luckily for her, having Tseng along probably lessened her risk of being discovered.

The copse of trees around the palace gave way to the city limits. They found a building with a convenient fire escape to scale and scrambled up. Well, Yuffie scrambled. Tseng was more like a panther in the dark, all sleek lines and smooth, unbroken movement. She briefly contemplated pushing him off the fire escape as punishment for him looking way better than her all the time but decided that would be against the best interests of her health and continued existence.

"Stop being so awesome," she muttered as she gave him a hand onto the roof. He didn't need it, but he took it anyway.

The corners of his mouth lifted in a small tense smile, and he said, "It's part of my job description."

She did a double take. Tseng had made a joke. Maybe he wasn't mad at her anymore? No, best not push her luck in that department. She would just keep buttering him up until she was absolutely certain he didn't want to bug the shower or something.

"Lead the way," he said, gesturing, and she realized suddenly that she had been just standing there. Right. Leading the way. For Tseng. She could do this.

And now she was nervous. She had started preparations for this jaunt with no qualms, not a single seed of anxiety in her body, but now she was _nervous_, dammit.

Some of that feeling waned as she and Tseng leaped from building to crowded building like monkeys, and here again she amended herself, for Tseng could never resemble a monkey. She might have, but not Tseng. The eaves and dips and strange mixture of East-West architecture in Wutai suited him, and she could imagine it as his natural habitat. He was a man of both worlds, and she came close to his perfect balance but never quite achieved it. She was always more of one or the other, depending on the day.

On a larger gap, she charged up a running start and would have ended the whole shebang in a roll if the roof of the next building didn't have stylized pagoda eaves. Instead, her feet hit the eave with a solid thump, and she used her continued momentum to slide off the edge and grab with her hands before she fell to her death three stories below. Tseng followed shortly after, landing to her right, and she grinned cheekily over at him.

"Come here often?"

He rolled his eyes and edged his way around the right corner of the building with a strong, sure grip. She knew his gloves had a pebbled section on the fingers and palms, and she wondered where she could get her hands on something like that. The grip would be nice, but even better would be the protection from dried bird crap.

When he had disappeared around the corner, she followed, supporting her entire body with just her arms and fingers. An acrobatic feat like this would never be easy, but she hadn't been lax with her physical training, either. Tseng was waiting for her around the corner, where a streetlamp illuminated the sloped eaves of another edifice. Without pausing to speak to him, she swung her lower body up between her arms, braced her feet against the edge of the eave, and kicked off like a swimmer in a pool.

In the five foot gap between buildings, she twisted in midair, grabbed the edge, and hauled herself onto the gentler angles of this building's rooftop. She let out a small, inaudible sigh of relief that her insane acrobatics had succeeded once again. _No amount of political wankery can rob me of my beauty and talents_, she thought happily.

Tseng, for his part, followed suit, and she admired the twist and turn of his muscular body in the glow of the streetlamps. She leaned to haul him up, though she suspected he didn't require her assistance.

"Nicely done," she murmured to him, mindful of the dark windows and the few passersby on sidewalks below. "I see the Turks are actually teaching you something."

"I didn't know the acquiring the skills of a trapeze artist would be included in the curriculum of Royal Training School," he said with a pointed look in her direction as he adjusted his gloves and rose from his crouch.

Amused that he would remember that conversation, she shoved him in the shoulder hard enough to shake most people. He didn't move, merely stared her down. "Aw, you killjoy."

"Your limited sensibilities should not and do not define me as a killjoy."

Instead of responding, she took off, a running dash for the next rooftop, and listened for his footsteps as he followed, pleased with their rapport. Progress, progress, always progress with Tseng. She wondered if it would ever come to a satisfactory conclusion, then decided that as long as they were moving forward, she would continue to enjoy it.

They traveled in good humor, and after about thirty minutes of work, when they were beginning to need a break, she halted him with a hand. She ducked low on their current rooftop, a flat, gravelly affair. He did not hesitate in imitating her, for which she was pleased.

"We're here," Yuffie murmured.

"Which one?" He shimmied up beside her on his elbows.

She pointed, sure to keep her hand low. The shadows ought to hide them with no problem, but she didn't want to take any chances. "Two to the left of the hot dog joint across the road."

The old, abandoned textile factory ought to be condemned already, but Yuffie acknowledged to herself that building and zoning laws in Wutai hadn't exactly been up to standard in recent years. It was only due to her and Staniv's efforts toward fixing this oversight that new workers had even stumbled on this place and begun to suspect something. Gorki was lucky they had put in a report to Wutai's law enforcement.

"This location would be ideal for peddling Dust." Tseng scanned it with his quick, intelligent gaze. "The area is not a particularly affluent one, the shelter seems abandoned except for squatters, and it would be easy to hook local residents on an upper."

Yuffie smiled grimly. "Too bad they underestimated me and my Turk."

At the phrase "my Turk," Tseng turned his eyes on her, an intense stare which Yuffie could not decipher. She returned his look, cornered by his gaze until he smiled as well, a slow, dangerous curl of his mouth. "Too bad for them, indeed."

She resolved to avoid the flare his smile lit in her gut—_stop it, Yuffie, stop being attracted to people who can snap your neck in your sleep_—and fumbled for her binoculars in her hip pouch. Her mind screamed that something important had just passed between them, but she tucked it away for later. "They're probably going to do most of their dealing in the wee hours of the morning," she said. "And we've got front row tickets."

"Now we wait," he concluded, shifting to get more comfortable on his elbows.

Two hours passed. Two painstaking hours of trying to hide her yawns (this whole having a bed-time and a real schedule thing was _ruining_ her groove). Just when Yuffie thought she wouldn't be able to keep her eyes open any longer, they spotted movement.

Three dark figures rounded the corner at the end of the street and made their way toward the factory. Yuffie didn't pay them any more attention than anyone else. She had stopped squinting at every late-night partyer or worker walking home after the first half hour. However, when they ducked through the crumbling doorframe, she stiffened.

"Did you see—"

"Yes."

"When they come back this way, we'll pick one and follow," she ordered, surprised at herself. Bossing Tseng shouldn't be so easy. He nodded, apparently unperturbed by her commands.

After about a minute, a faint glow shone from one of the second story windows.

"They won't leave from the same place they entered," Tseng said quietly. He began to crawl toward the back edge of their rooftop, from where they had come in the first place. "We need to get to ground level."

She followed him as he scaled the building with the aid of window ledges, glad for her custom leather boots and the silence they offered. If any lonely souls had stayed behind for late night office work, they would not have an inkling of Tseng and Yuffie's presence.

The followed the alley back around to a different vantage point. Sure enough, just as he concealed the two of them behind a large, stinking dumpster, they saw three figures exit the building. One left from the front door, one from a side exit, and one leapt from the fire escape with a speed and lightness of foot that suggested maybe these Dust dealers were testing the product.

"Which one?" she breathed in his ear. He turned his head toward her, so that she had to move to keep their faces from accidentally brushing.

"You choose."

Thinking quickly, she said, "Let's take the one from the side exit."

She dashed away from him, into the back of the alley. Their target was still across the street, heading in the direction from which he had come before entering the factory. Tseng followed her as she navigated through the labyrinth and out into the street just as their target rounded the corner.

Yuffie felt as though her feet were air and the ground clouds as she scampered in the shadows behind him. On a whim, she leapt onto a stair-railing and propelled herself from there onto a one-story rooftop, swift along the shingles.

Their target looked to be about five feet, five inches tall, right in the range of height that spelled "nondescript." Most working-class Wuteng wore a curious mix of Eastern clothing stylized by classical Western trends. This man's manner of dress fit that bill perfectly, a flourishing dragon embroidered painstakingly—most likely hand-made by a wide or relative—onto his denim jacket. She could see he wore a knit cap to protect his ears from the chill night air, and his pants, though also cut in a style reminiscent of Edge citizens, seemed to flow a bit at the legs. Despite their hatred of Shinra,

Tseng followed closely behind her. He was so quiet, she would never know he was there if not for the occasional glance backward.

When she deemed them a safe distance from any prying eyes, Yuffie sent one meaningful glance in Tseng's direction. He nodded his approval and acknowledgement of her next action, so she pounced.

She shifted from a light prowl to a sprint. By the time their target's head whipped around toward the sudden sound of footsteps, Yuffie's feet had made firm contact with his back. The man went down onto the pavement.

She heard the soft thwack of his cheekbone hitting concrete, the world righting itself as she landed on her feet. Tseng approached, resembling a panther. He put his boot on the weakly-struggling man's neck.

"If you make a sound," he said, voice low and cold, "I'll break you."

Yuffie and Tseng remained carefully out of the man's sight. It would not do for him to recognize his rulers in their mission garb.

"T-take my money, man," he stammered, "you can take m-my money, just let me go. I won't tell no one, please!"

"Quiet," Tseng commanded again, and Yuffie watched with interest as he ground his toe a little harder into the man's neck. She raised her eyebrows at Tseng, who slanted a dead-eyed look at her.

She tried not to shiver. Sometimes, Tseng reminded her all too suddenly that he was a Turk. She cleared her throat and lowered her voice. "We know you're dealing Dust. Name your supplier."

"D-dust? I don't touch that stuff, man, it's too much. I don't know who told you I deal Dust, but I don't mess around with—"

"You're high right now. Answer our questions or I'll split your head on the pavement," Tseng said, and quicker than she could register, he whipped out a handgun and pointed it at the man's head.

Yuffie shushed his sudden whimper, mindful of the dark street and the possibility that even on a week night some innocent citizen might pass them by. "I can't tell you anything!"

When Tseng pushed a little harder with his boot, the man hissed and said, "His face is always covered, and he barely talks."

Yuffie's eyes widened. Now _this_ was interesting.

The man rambled on, tears leaking from his visible eye. "I swear I can't tell you anything because I don't know. Please, I got two little girls at home—they'll kill me if I tell you, man—"

Tseng met her eyes, and she realized he was waiting for her word on what to do next. She shook her head. No, she wasn't heartless. And she knew the look of a flunky. This man didn't know shit—he was at the bottom of the ladder, kept completely in the dark.

She gestured for Tseng to speak. "We're going to let you go," he said. Yuffie thought his voice would be less recognizable than hers, so she let him continue. "If you tell anyone about this encounter, we will find you, we will kill you, and then we'll kill your children. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand," he blubbered, his face shining in the dim night lights. "Th-thank you so much."

Yuffie wanted, desperately, to say, _Don't thank us. Go home to your daughters and kiss them and tell them you love them and you'll never leave them._ _Tell them you'll never get sick and die. Tell them you'll stop dealing Dust and clean up your act._

But she knew the only way a single father working a pitiful job in the Wuteng slums could pay for his daughters to live a halfway decent life would be extracurricular activities like Dust dealing, like gambling, like black market sales and exchanges. This, this here, was why she had to fix her country. For people like this man, so children could grow up with full bellies and warm beds.

She swallowed all the words that bubbled behind her lips and said, "Keep your mouth shut, and you won't have to thank us."

Tseng said, "When we leave, remain on the ground, in this position. Count slowly to two hundred. Once you have reached two hundred, you may rise. Not a second before then. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes. I understand. Thank you."

Yuffie counted down from three with her fingers, and Tseng stepped off their captive's neck. The man sucked air down in panicked gasps, and Tseng kept his gun pointed as he and Yuffie backed away. When they rounded the corner, they broke into a run and made it to the nearest roof without having to communicate. It would be better concealed and safer for them the higher up they were.

"Mind if we save it until we get back?" she whispered to him. "I'm beat."

Tseng nodded, and they made their way back to the palace in thoughtful silence.

They fell asleep that night discussing what they'd discovered, what they had not discovered, and what they were going to do next. For the first in ages, Yuffie was out as soon as her head hit the pillow.

.

Yuffie woke the next morning slowly, the warmth from the room's space heater casting a sleepy, comfortable pall over her. She dimly registered a smell of warmth and soap, the feeling of someone's arms around her.

It was a few moments before she understood the implications of this, and she almost flew out of the bed when it hit her. Not _someone's_ arms. Tseng's arms. He was wrapped around her shoulders with one hand in her hair; her head rested neatly on his chest. She could hear his heartbeat beneath her ear and the steady sound of his breath.

She thought quickly. Maybe, if she were very careful, she could disentangle herself from him before he woke up. Usually he was up and gone before her, but apparently last night had tired him as much as her. Before she could make any move, though, Tseng tensed beneath her cheekbone.

She froze. All real sense or logical thought fled her in that moment. Usually, her propensity for babbling under pressure would take the steering wheel and command events in a hilarious or humiliating direction, but even that character facet seemed to be malfunctioning.

The world narrowed to pure sensation: Tseng's fine silk pajamas beneath her cheekbone; the warmth radiating from his body; the dim light of morning invading the room. He smelled warm, like a man in the morning should. She could not see his face, and she dared not turn her head, but she desperately wanted to.

He spoke first. "Good morning," and his voice was languid and rough with sleep.

"Good morning," she tried, voice unsteady with nerves. "Ah, sorry about this."

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, and she was acutely aware of his hand still threaded through her hair, the slight movement of his fingers as he toyed with the strands there. How surreal, that this should be happening to her, with Tseng.

"Yeah," she finally said.

He sighed, and stretched. "Then don't apologize."

She didn't want to get up, but she didn't know how to stay there. The decision was almost made for her when the alarm clock blared, but Tseng surprised her by reaching out and clicking it off with finality. His eyes drifted closed, and he said, "My arm is asleep."

"Oh, well, we can just—" Her awkward sentence terminated when he pulled his arm out from beneath her, only to turn on his side and curl his body around hers.

"Any meetings to attend?" he asked, voice still drowsy.

"No," she whispered. For the first time in her life, Yuffie felt if she spoke, the moment would shatter into a thousand pieces and be lost forever. "None."

"Then stay." He yawned softly, his mouth moving against her hair.

"Okay," she said, half-thrilled, half-terrified. She tucked her head beneath his chin and drifted slowly back to sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

She spent the rest of her day in a kind of daze. The Mighty Gods recognized her distraction and ended the day's session early, and she wandered the grounds for a full twenty minutes.

Maybe her attraction went a little deeper than looks with the head of the Turks. She had been avoiding this notion for some time now, out of self-preservation and simplicity's sake, but after the moment in their bed this morning, she brought it to the forefront of her mind and examined the possibilities. Did he have feelings for her as well? Some of his actions certainly seemed to indicate it.

After all, Tseng was a very private, deliberate man. Surely he would not touch her like this morning if he didn't have some attraction to her. She didn't really understand how someone like Tseng could find a pair of legs with a mouth attractive, but hey, there was no accounting for taste.

Truthfully, she had not thought the leader of the Turks would be so helpful. She had thought he might be an asset—the whole reason she had approached him in the first place—but his aid had been invaluable so far. Without him, she'd be dead more than a couple times over.

Now more than ever, though, Yuffie felt her mind straying to the safe in Tseng's office. And for some reason, their latest step forward had made her even more curious. She wanted to know him completely.

As long as he hid some things from her, Yuffie would not even be able to think about trusting him. First step: crack the code. She had to.

.

Tseng stopped in the doorway for just a moment. "Going somewhere?"

"Oh, hey, Tseng." She looked at him briefly, then returned to tying her belt. "Don't wait up for me tonight. Me and Chekhov are trying some new techniques. I may be a while."

"New techniques?" he asked idly, stripping the socks from his feet.

"You've never seen me do the All Creation before. Lucky you."

He lifted his eyebrows in question.

"Reno has, but that's because I was kicking his ass."

His mouth twitched. "I see."

"Anyway," she continued, flippancy outside, praying inside. _Please, please don't question it._ "We're gonna see if we can fine-tune it. She says I still don't do it as well as my Great Aunt Wu." Yuffie pulled a face.

This time, he smiled a bit.

"You sleep tight now, shnookums." She blew him a kiss. "Don't let the angry old Wuteng bed-bugs bite."

Her heart beat wildly at the flash of his teeth as she shut the door behind her.

When no one stopped her on the way to Tseng's office, she sighed with relief. Apparently, all she had to do was don her dojo uniform and no one questioned her motives. Not that anyone did normally, unless they _wanted_ to be wedgied into oblivion.

Inside Tseng's office, she made quicker work of opening the safe than any previous attempts. Once she had deciphered the code on the dial, she carefully defused the initial alarm system and the backup alarm system. Tseng was nothing if not thorough, and Yuffie was nothing if not a world class snoop.

Tseng would be asleep, and all the guards would assume the office was locked and unoccupied. Yuffie had all the time in the world she needed. Getting past all the security measures to the contents within took her a little over an hour, which she didn't particularly like. With any luck, Tseng wouldn't question her alibi and would remain in bed, sleeping soundly while she defiled his privacy post haste.

Lying in the bottom of the safe, the simple manila folder looked unassuming and innocent enough. No labels or words indicated its contents or purpose. Carefully, she lifted it out. It felt heavier than she expected. She settled in the middle of the carpet, where she wouldn't move anything Tseng might notice. Flicking her eyes once more toward the door to check that she had locked it, she opened the folder.

At the sight of the first page, her mouth went instantly dry.

The first item in the folder was a full-page color print of herself as a baby in her mother's arms. The photograph depicted her mother from behind, with baby Yuffie giggling toward the camera, gazing over her mother's shoulder. The shot had been taken from a distance, but she recognized her father standing at her side. He smiled at his wife, his features crinkled in joy. The setting: a park, the sakura trees in riotous bloom around them.

Yuffie's chest squeezed. She might have cried at this perfect picture of her life's grief, had she not been so completely bulldozed by the discovery. _Where_ had Tseng acquired this? How?

She flipped to the next picture: herself at age two, flanked by Staniv and Chekhov as her father spoke from behind a podium.

A photo documentary of Yuffie's entire life comprised the first half of the file. There were at least fifty snapshots of her, in chronological order, from that first baby picture to just a few months before her marriage to Tseng. The images varied in quality, some black and white and fuzzy, some crisp, in vibrant colors. She realized after some time that these were all paparazzi or press shots collected from gods-only-knew who or where.

A ringing started in her ears at seeing the second half of the folder.

The first twenty-five pages were a detailed biography of her life, down to the smallest details, set in a strict timeline. She realized as she read, rapt, that the author seemed to know her life better than she herself did. The writer of this even knew about her extreme night terrors as a small child.

She settled in to read the entire thing, her stomach clenching more and more as the pages stretched on. Her history with her family, Shake's infatuation with her, side information about her father, her mother, any man with whom she had ever dallied.

To her horror, there were two entire pages on her brief relationship with Vincent. _Who the fuck wrote this? _She had never told a soul, not even Tifa, about their disastrous three-month fling. It had been comprised mostly of arguing and sex, but this report had two entire pages devoted to their time together.

When she had reached the end of her life story (which she had titled "Every Goddamn Thing You Need to Know About Yuffie Kisaragi, Fucking Ever" in her head), she realized it was only the first section. The last fifty pages were an expertly-compiled report on Wutai's economy, her plans for the future, and the projects she had recently enacted. Some of it even spanned back to her father's economic and political decisions.

Her vision tunneled to a pinpoint, her blood crowding close to the surface of her skin.

An entire file on her personal life? She hadn't exactly expected it, but he was a Turk. She had expected some strange habits. The detailed report on Wutai, however, took her from mere anger to blinding fury.

They had agreed. They had agreed Wutai would not be Rufus' business, and here he was, selling her secrets to the Shinra like there were no rules. He had broken the terms of their agreement under her nose and threatened her healing country's integrity. She had made it clear his loyalty was to her, not Rufus, and he had snuck around the order.

She didn't bother replacing the file or the notes. They fluttered from her lap as she stood abruptly, sifting over the ground as she strode toward the door.

She encountered two guards patrolling as she went from the business wing of the palace to the master wing where the ruler's rooms were housed. When they saw her expression, they quickly moved aside. She barely heard their whispers in her wake.

Tseng could hardly do anything but take notice when the door opened sharply.He did not initially seem to recognize her displeasure, however, as he asked, "How was practice?" He had settled with a book that looked heavy enough to club a baby Adamantoise to death. At seeing her expression, he frowned. "Are you all right?"

Yuffie leaned her back against the door, studying him. Just seeing his face right now turned her stomach. She wanted to shake him. Power surged in her, and she tamped down on it, trying not to lose control.

After a few moments, he said, "You should change into something more comfortable."

Trying to figure out a way to begin this conversation without losing her mind, she went to her side of the bed and sat on the edge of it. Her fingers dug into the duvet. Then Tseng touched her. Only surprise, as she recognized his attempts to massage her shoulders, kept her from attacking him.

She could not bring herself to move as she felt one hand trail up to her chin, angling her head toward her shoulder, and his breath puffed over her lips, warm and smelling of toothpaste. His eyes were closed, and he leaned closer. _He wants to kiss me_. She didn't move.

Yuffie vividly envisioned Tseng calling Rufus over the phone, smiling as he relayed all Wutai's secrets.

She fairly shoved him off her as she sprang away, glaring at him with narrowed eyes. Before she could stop herself, the words fell from her mouth like poison. "I know about the file."

To his credit as leader of the Turks, Yuffie found herself impressed at his almost complete lack of reaction. His fingers twitched just slightly, and he blinked twice. Then he said, "What file?" in a rather convincing tone.

She moved farther away from him, until she was on the other side of the bed entirely. "Cut the shit. I broke into the safe in your office and saw the contents of that fucked up little file you have on me."

His eyes flashed and he moved around to her side. "You went into my office." His voice was dangerous, and he loomed over her, making the room seem small.

"I figured I couldn't be a good little wife until I knew everything you were hiding from me." She would not allow him to intimidate her—no, _he_ was in the wrong. They'd had an agreement.

"And yet still you hide from me," he accused, getting into her personal space. He was so close she could feel the warmth of his body, smell his aftershave. There was something awkward about him standing almost between her knees.

She wanted to push him away, but she didn't want to lose her cool and really start hurting him. "It's what _you_ were hiding from _me_, Tseng! Does Rufus know everything in that file?"

He stiffened, looking down his nose at her with jaw clenched.

"Does he have copies of it?"

"No," he said through gritted teeth. "He does not."

"Don't lie to me. Does Rufus have—"

"I said he does _not_," Tseng barked.

"You agreed your loyalty was to me. You've betrayed me _and_ this country!"

He took a step away from her, stood with his back ramrod straight and his expression somber. The way he stared at her, he seemed almost to regret his next words. "My loyalty is to the Turks."

Her gut clenched like it was a physical blow. "Did you and Rufus have a big laugh over sharing my secrets? You thought you really had me going, didn't you?"

He looked away, a muscle in his cheek jumping. Her hands shook. She did not feel whatever control kept him from lashing out at her. "You don't think the late president Shinra would have kept tabs on a country he wished to conquer? I helped Rufus with the most recent information.

"To me, the file was a tool." He met her eyes with challenge.

Yuffie didn't know what else to say to him to express how intensely he had had betrayed her and her country. He wouldn't care. She defaulted to cruelty. "Did reading up on my sex life make you hot, Tseng?" He looked angry at this comment, but she went on. "You thought I'd just fall into your arms as soon as you were nice to me, as soon as you wanted to _kiss_ me. The thing is," she said, this time making the move to get closer to him, to lean toward his face and yell, "I'm not an _idiot!_"

She was lying. Some part of her had warmed to him. What they had on a personal level was so fragile, but she had nursed it, watched it grow. He had crushed it.

Tseng simply stared at her.

"You got into my head," she whispered, almost blind with rage. The ringing in her ears started again.

He lifted a careful hand and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. She didn't take her eyes off his face. He was impassive, and the immensity of her emotions froze her. "My loyalty," he said, "is to the Turks."

Yuffie seized him by the collar and threw herself into him, knocking them both to the floor. Tseng twisted under her, almost cracking his skull in the process. She lost sight of everything but the anger, battering him with her fists. Tseng flipped her onto her back. When it seemed his greater weight would give him control of the situation again, she screamed and felt a foreign power take hold of her body.

Time seemed to slow. Yuffie felt like a spectator as she observed her own actions from a distance. She seemed to be outside herself, unable to stop what came next. A white-blue light exploded from her body, and some force knocked Tseng clear across the room and into the wall. He slid down into the nightstand, narrowly missing knocking that onto his lap as he slumped to the floor, unconscious.

After what seemed an eternity, Yuffie rose from her supine position and left the room. Tseng remained on the floor.

She ran.

.

One phone call had her in touch with Cid, a few more had her excuses put in to the Mighty Gods. A couple hours hiding on the roof before the pilot arrived, then Yuffie was going to Edge.

"So what's happenin' now?" Cid asked frankly as he escorted her to the _Shera_. The end of the toothpick protruding from his lips was chewed almost beyond recognition. He was hard at work on the other side as they spoke.

Instead of answering his question, Yuffie asked one of her own. "When's the last time you had a cigarette, old man?"

"Don't call me old man, and that ain't none of your business," he snapped, shooting her an annoyed look out of the side of his sharp blue eyes. "You and Tseng have a fight?"

"Why does it have to be that me and Tseng had a fight? Why can't I just want to visit my good friend Tifa and need a ride from my old pal Cid?" The toothpick jumped as his jaw clenched at the word "old."

"So you're tellin' me you just planned a trip to see Tifa at midnight."

Yuffie shrugged. "You know me. Impulsive." It annoyed her, the way he scratched his stubble and kept glancing at her face as if he expected to find something hidden there. "Besides. Me and Tseng don't have fights. We don't care enough to have fights."

"Uh huh," he said, not sounding convinced.

He preceded her up the metal staircase. The sight of his broad shoulders in the familiar flight jacket, the white clouds of his breath evanescing into the night—she stopped, struck by the immensity of her love for him, for all of her friends. One phone call had him out of bed on a cold night, when he should've been huddled up to his wife drifting off to dreamland, just to help get her to Edge. She knew she would have done the same for any of them had they asked.

Cid reached the top stair and turned around, frowning. "What's the matter, slow-ass?"

Yuffie shook herself from her reverie and followed him into the _Shera_.

When they entered the cockpit, Cid popped open a console on the main panel and rummaged around. "Here we go," he said after a moment, and tossed an object in her direction.

She caught the tranquilizer and began tearing open the packaging. "You got motion sickness I didn't know about?"

"I keep those around for you, dumbass," he grumbled. "Don't have time to be cleaning puke off the steering wheel."

As Cid fired up the _Shera_ with the grace of an expert conductor with an orchestra, Yuffie watched. She would never not be impressed by how he handled the airship, as if it were some hulking metal attachment to his own body, as if he had been born tied to it. The lights came on with some clicks and whirs, and she studied his face as he worked.

Crows' feet lined his eyes, a mixture of smile and frown lines creeping around his mouth. Cid was starting to show his age; Yuffie supposed they all were in some way or another. AVALANCHE had not exactly had an easy time of it altogether. To think, eight years had passed since Aeris's death, since Sephiroth died the first time. The immensity of events since then made her head spin. Yuffie wondered if AVALANCHE would ever be allowed to settle down and stop saving the world.

"When are you and Shera going to have some kids?" she asked suddenly. Yuffie thought she shouldn't enjoy so much the way he sputtered and almost spat out his toothpick.

_Shera_ shuddered and lifted into the air. Her stomach dropped, and in response, Yuffie popped the tranquilizer into her mouth. She didn't particularly enjoy spending her ride in a drugged up haze, but it was preferable to spending her ride re-examining the contents of her stomach. She dropped to the metal floor and assumed the lotus position, trying to calm her nerves.

Cid eyed her warily. "You gonna puke?" His left hand seemed to be tilting the gearshift almost unconsciously.

"Urk—no. Don't dodge the question, you old fart." Yuffie abandoned lotus position and opted for putting her head between her knees. She viewed Cid through the small window between her legs.

He seemed to be thinking for a moment, chewing pensively on the now almost-destroyed toothpick. "I don't know," he finally said.

The ship swayed a bit as they settled into a steady pace. Yuffie frowned. "What do you mean you don't know?"

A shadow flitted over his face as he flicked some switches and set the ship to cruise. "There. Few hours and we'll be in Edge." Surprising Yuffie, Cid crossed the cockpit and settled next to her on the ground, his back to a console. "I think I'm too old for kids."

"Cid," she said with an exasperation meant to hide how sad this made her, "you're only forty-one." She didn't think he would take to heart all her ribbing about his age. A thought struck her. "Unless you mean you can't get it up."

One thing Yuffie loved about her relationship with Cid was her ability to make him blush like no one else. She thought it might have to do with her being a small slip of a Wuteng lady. When Barret said things like that to Cid, he barely batted an eye. When Yuffie did, he lit up like a campfire.

"No!" he barked, sitting ramrod straight. "That ain't what I fuckin' meant."

She sobered, realizing she was seeing a tender part of Cid that almost never made an appearance. "You're not old, old man."

He couldn't seem to look at her, studying his hands curled in his lap. "What happens when the kid grows up, and I'm too old to protect 'em from whatever bullshit comes next?"

"What bullshit?"

"C'mon, Yuffie," he scoffed. Apparently he had had enough of his mutilated toothpick, for he spat it out onto the floor next to them. She grimaced. "There's always something on this fuckin' Planet."

She wanted to protest, but the thought quickly died when an image of her father on his deathbed came to mind. It was hard to disagree with Cid when she reviewed her current situation. Was it just that AVALANCHE attracted trouble? Were they destined to just keep saving the world over and over? She didn't know.

"That's we're here, dummy," she said, shooting him a wobbly smile between her knees.

"We?" He had shifted his gaze from his hands to the windows, where the full moon lit the huge windows.

"Your friends, Cid. When you're old and disgusting, I'll still be spry and beautiful and amazi—"

She was cut off by a spot of turbulence that set her stomach gurgling. She felt Cid's hand on her arm, and she looked up into his luminous blue eyes.

"Thanks, brat," he said with no small measure of sincerity. Her heart ached for him, but she knew his insecurities about getting older were just ones he'd have to work through. "But since we're having touchy-feely time, maybe you could tell me what's going on with you and the Turk."

She groaned. "Do I _have_ to?"

"Course you don't fuckin' have to, but I ain't goin' to lie. You've looked better, and I want to know in case I have to whoop his ass." Cid crossed his arms. From a pocket, he procured another toothpick and stuck it in his mouth.

"Okay, not that I'm complaining, but where are your cigarettes?"

"I _said _that ain't none of your business already," he growled. "But you already asked when I'm goin' to have kids."

Her eyes widened. "Cid! You don't mean—"

He held up a hand. "Don't jump the gun. Not yet. I just figured I'd better start kickin' the habit early. Now stop dodgin' the damn subject, kid."

"I don't really want to talk about it," she admitted. "It's just... it's all so fucked up."

"You know, me and Shera don't fight much anymore," he said, and she wondered where he was going with this, "mainly 'cause I ain't as much of an asshole as I used to be."

"Arguable," she muttered.

He scowled but ignored her. "Sometimes I still have to sleep on the couch, but it all blows over eventually."

"What's your point?"

"My point," he said with irritation, "is y'all are married. It'll blow over for you too, even if you have to sleep on the—does the palace have a couch?"

She rolled her eyes. "It's not that simple. You're putting this in terms of a real marriage."

"The way I see it, you're married now, and that's all there is to it. So figure out what the problem is, and get it fixed."

"What if the problem is him?" she said in a soft voice, partly lost by the cushion of her own legs against her mouth.

"Then you fix that motherfucker too," he said, grinning.

"I thought you didn't even like Tseng," she groused.

"I ain't gotta like him to know he's doin' a good job protecting you. And that's what matters. If he's keeping you safe, he's doing it right." He looked at her with such openness, as if what he said was just a simple truth. He narrowed his eyes at her suddenly. "You feeling okay?"

"I think," she slurred, "the tranq is kicking in."

"Let's get you somewhere to sit. We got a long ride ahead of us."


	14. Chapter 14

A.N.: Apologies for the short chapter, but we hop back into the action after this, so I wanted to stop here. Hope y'all enjoy it anyway!

.

Yuffie had dropped Cid off at Final Heaven with the instructions to wait for her. Even though it was six a.m., Tifa would be up helping Denzel and Marlene get ready for school. Now, she stood outside the WRO tower with fists clenched. She wasn't sure if she would find Rufus inside, but she had a hunch the man only stopped working to sleep a few hours and eat something expensive once in a while.

She would require the receptionist's permission to get to Rufus' office's floor. Yuffie strode through the sliding glass doors and approached the circular desk. The receptionist's name badge flashed "Tiffany" at her, and Yuffie grinned. By the way the pretty girl's face shrank as she did so, Yuffie imagined she looked frightening.

"I need to see Rufus Shinra."

"I'm sorry," Tiffany said, "no one by the name of Rufus Shinra works in this building." She tucked a cropped lock of brown hair behind her ear and did an impressive job of looking clueless.

Yuffie rolled her eyes. Since he had recovered from the Geostigma, Rufus had taken up residence in the WRO building as opposed to just pulling the financial strings from a distance. His presence and influence in the World Regenesis Project were kept under tight wraps. They imagined—correctly—that people would not be too pleased to discover the man who had nearly destroyed the Planet was behind the star organization that had rebuilt almost everything.

"Tell Rufus Yuffie's here and she has a bone to pick with him." As the receptionist opened her mouth to protest, Yuffie cut her off. "I'm the Empress of Wutai, I know he's here, and he'll want to see me."

With a continued look of reluctance, Tiffany picked up the phone and hit a couple of buttons. "Sir, I'm sorry to disturb you, but there's someone here to see—yes, I know you said no visitors, but—yes, sir, I know—"

Already tired of this, Yuffie snatched the receiver from Tiffany's hands, ignoring her scandalized expression.

"Rufus, it's me."

"Empress," he said without missing a beat. "I had not expected to hear from you."

"Of course you didn't. We need to talk."

"By all means. Please, give the phone back to Tiffany."

Yuffie did as he requested, and soon, she was on her way up to the office. There was no button for Rufus' office in the elevator. They'd learned from experience that if there was a floor no one else was allowed on, someone would try to figure it out. So they'd just ommitted a couple of floors for whatever purpose they chose. One of those floors was Rufus'.

She tapped her foot as the elevator went up fifty floors, then one more with a quiet _ding_. The doors slid open, and she traveled down the narrow hallway until she found herself in front of Rufus' office. A plaque on the wall read simply _R.S._

Yuffie didn't knock. She barged in, the door hitting the interior wall with a bang. In the back of her head, she hoped it scuffed his pleasant mint green wallpaper.

Rufus sat framed by a wall of windows and the view of Edge sprawling behind him. He looked immaculate, dressed in a gray suit today. The color flattered his sharp eyes and fair hair. She supposed other people might be cowed by him sitting in his high-backed black chair with Edge behind him like a king over his kingdom, but she was not fooled. He might pull the financial strings, but the public loved Reeve.

"Good morning, your highness. I trust you're—"

"Shut up," she snapped. She was not nearly as angry with Rufus as she had been with Tseng. Leviathan did not stir, but she was aware of his presence. "What has Tseng told you about Wutai?"

Yuffie approached the desk, aware she was playing with fire. Wherever Rufus was, a Turk would not be far behind. She was sure if she threatened him with physical harm, Rude, Elena, or Reno would make an appearance.

For his part, Rufus sent her a blank expression. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Don't bullshit, Rufus," she said, placing her hands flat on his desk and leaning toward his face. He did not quail. If anything, she thought she spotted a spark of amusement in his gaze. "You know that doesn't work on me."

"As you say," he conceded, but somehow Yuffie still didn't feel he had agreed with her.

Had Tseng revealed anything to him about her strange tendency toward glowing and magical healing powers? She didn't expect to get a straight answer out of Rufus, but if nothing else, she'd be able to give him a piece of her mind.

"I don't know what Tseng told you, but—"

"Tseng did not tell me anything I didn't already know," Rufus interjected, a smirk playing about his lips.

Yuffie didn't think that was entirely possible with the staggering amount of information in that file. Besides, Tseng had told her Rufus helped him put it together.

"Don't lie. I just said that doesn't work on me."

"The truth works on everyone, Empress."

"There a problem here?" Yuffie whirled, her eyes landing on Elena at the open door. The blonde did not appear pleased to see her, but Yuffie could not bring herself to care.

"We're perfectly fine, Elena. Please, if I could have a moment?" Rufus waved her off, and she shut the door reluctantly. Her silhouette lingered outside the frosted window. "Empress," he began in what he must have thought were soothing tones.

Yuffie wasn't having any of it. "Listen, you," she said, getting very close to him and poking her finger into his chest. "Stay out of Wutai's business. Me and Tseng have an agreement—and it doesn't include you."

"Is that a threat?" he asked, voice quiet and teetering on dangerous. Yuffie wasn't intimidated by Rufus, though. No man who had custom floor molding of little sailboats in his office would succeed in scaring her.

"You bet your ass it's a threat, buddy." She wished she could stand on his desk and pose, but now was probably not the time. "Don't spy on me. Don't use Tseng to spy on me. Stay the hell out of Wutai. Or else."

She was backing away from his desk now, attempting to make a graceful exit.

"Have you left your country in Tseng's capable hands?" he called. And there it was again, his amusement. She wanted to leap across the desk and choke him. Better, unleash Leviathan, if she even could. He wouldn't be laughing at her then.

Furious, she spat, "Just stay out!"

She tried not to let Elena see her anger as she punched the button for the elevator.

.

Fifteen minutes later found Yuffie yawning over a cup of steaming coffee. Tifa sat next to her at the bar. The kids had been shipped successfully off to school, Cloud was out on a delivery, and Cid had retired for a cat nap after her arrival at Final Heaven, for which Yuffie was grateful. This way, she had Tifa all to herself for a couple hours.

The bar was dim, even with the sun already up. Sunlight always filtered lazily through Tifa's small, clouded windows. Yuffie suspected that if Tifa weren't so pretty and surprisingly stern and Cloud so intimidating, the low lighting might draw more ruffians than it actually did.

"So what happened?" Tifa slugged some coffee. Her eyes were not fully open yet, and her hair was somewhat askew. Yuffie knew from traveling with the older woman that Tifa was not a morning person. She suspected that was one reason Tifa had opened another bar after Seventh Heaven was destroyed—later hours.

Yuffie stirred a generous helping of sugar into her mug, then took a sip. It was just below hot enough to burn her tongue. She savored the feeling of her exhaustion easing.

"Okay, but before I start, you have to promise you won't hop a chocobo to Wutai and try to kill Tseng," she said as casually as she possibly could.

Tifa stopped running her fingers through her mass of bedhead hair and squinted at Yuffie. "And… _why_ would I need to promise that?"

Yuffie hid her face in her arms so Tifa wouldn't see her miserable expressions. "A few reasons. One, I still need him. Two, I might have already killed him myself."

There was a pause, and after a moment, Yuffie looked up to see Tifa staring at her with a considering expression. She stood, went behind the bar and grabbed a bottle with a flourishing script that said Black Chocobo, and came back to pour two generous helpings into their coffee.

"Tifa, it's a quarter past seven in the morning," Yuffie started to say, and Tifa made a soft shushing noise, one hand at her temple, the other bringing her mug to her lips.

"Oh, that's good," she sighed after a couple swallows. She met Yuffie's astonished eyes. "What? It's not every day I get to see you, and since we don't get to have a sleepover, I figured now's as good a time as any. Besides, Cloud's picking the kids up from school today," she finished with a little red in her cheeks.

"You don't have to tell me twice," Yuffie shrugged, grabbing her mug. "Cid's driving anyway." The coffee smelled like rum as she held it under her nose.

"So what happened?" Tifa asked again. "I need you to be a little more specific."

Yuffie opened her mouth to tell Tifa everything, from beginning to end—Tseng's recent affections, her discovery of the file, their big blowout. Something held her back, though, and she took another swig of her coffee. Truthfully, she wanted to tell Tifa, but she felt embarrassed that he had even managed to keep the file from her in the first place. Furthermore, she was embarrassed to be bothered by his behavior at all. Everyone had warned her of his tendencies, and she had led everyone to believe she could deal with the consequences.

Would telling Tifa be cheating? She felt suddenly like if her friends knew, they would be disappointed in her.

Seeing Yuffie's conflicted frown, Tifa stood. "I don't know what he did, but I'll show him a thing or two," she said, fist hitting palm with an ominous sound. She turned toward the stairs. "I'm waking up Cid, and we're going to talk to him _right _now."

Yuffie grabbed her friend by the muscly arm. "Tifa," she said sharply. Her voice seemed to echo in the quiet bar. "It won't help anything."

Tifa's reaction sealed it. She would not tell the rest of her friends the story. Not the whole story, anyway. She didn't need them running off to Wutai to endanger her fragile balance. Plus, she wasn't even sure if she'd permanently damaged Tseng in some way; she didn't need them complicating him further.

She decided on an abbreviated version of the story. "I found some pictures of me and my dad hidden in his office—old ones, taken by paparazzi. He had to have dug them up from old magazines."

Tifa's lips pressed into a thin line, and her hands clenched the coffee cup so hard her knuckles whitened. "That low-down…" She breathed deeply, then said, "Go on."

"He wouldn't tell me where he got them, we got into a big fight, and I… punched him," she finished lamely. She couldn't think of a way to explain Leviathan to Tifa, and she didn't want to begin.

Tifa sniffed. "That's it?" No, she imagined Tifa would think a punch a small thing.

"Yeah," she said.

"He's probably fine," Tifa said, frowning. "But are you sure about leaving Wutai with him?"

Yuffie knew this maybe wasn't the best idea now that the fires had cooled somewhat and she'd arrived in Edge, but in the moment she had called Cid for a ride, she hadn't been feeling the most emotionally stable. Now she was in Edge, and she figured she might stay a while before going back. She thought she could trust the Mighty Gods to hold down the fort for at least twenty-four hours. If not, she might as well just write her entire government off as a failure.

"It's only for a few hours," she said, trying to sound confident.

"Another drink?" Tifa asked, finished off the last of her coffee.

"Definitely," Yuffie said.

Tifa went to work mixing them something behind the bar. After a moment, she asked, "Are you going to tell me what really happened?"

Her last sip of coffee almost went down the wrong pipe. "W-what," she spluttered, trying not to dribble on herself.

Tifa smiled gently. "Yuffie," she said, "I'm your best friend. I know you didn't come all the way here because you punched Tseng. What really happened?"

"You don't believe me?" Yuffie asked somewhat redundantly. She didn't know what to say now that Tifa had called her out.

"I believe you and Tseng had a fight." She rearranged some of her liquor bottles, talking over her shoulder. "But judging by how far you came, and how awful you looked when I asked you what happened, there's more than what you said." She turned from the bar and put a new glass down in front of Yuffie. "Try that."

Yuffie sipped it and made a face. She hated cranberry juice. Tifa rolled her eyes and snatched the glass up again, goin back to work.

"Look, if you don't let _me_ help you, I know you're not letting Tseng help you. You can't do all this on your own, Yuffie. Even if it's just talking to someone, you need friends."

The past months had been some of the loneliest Yuffie had ever experienced. Surviving off the lands in the Gongagan wilderness at age twelve had been her first taste of what it meant to be truly alone. Being married to Tseng, ruling Wutai—that was her first taste in being alone while still surrounded by people. She ached to tell Tifa everything, but that would require revealing Leviathan to someone other than the Mighty Gods, and she didn't think she ought to just yet. Something told her to play that particular card close to her chest, until she absolutely could not avoid revealing it any longer. A ninja's best maneuvers were the secret ones, after all.

Even so, what Tifa said affected her. She felt at once grateful for her friends and sorry she could not be completely honest with them. She didn't know what to say to the older woman, who had set another drink down in front of her and seemed to be waiting expectantly for some sort of answer. Instead of speaking, Yuffie grabbed her glass, went to take a sip, and paused as she felt tears beginning their slow track down her cheeks. A small sob escaped her chest, and she set the glass down before she spilled it with her shaking hands. She was isolated, tired, and had nobody to really talk to truthfully in any complete definition of the word.

Tifa had a tact that other people did not, however. She said nothing, walking around the bar and taking Yuffie into her arms without another word. With Tifa wrapped around her like a blanket, rocking her back and forth, Yuffie cried openly. She wept like she had when she was a small girl, when she had a mother to cradle her and chase nightmares or skinned knees away. Now she only had Tifa, and she felt ashamed at her weakness even as the coil of tension in her gut loosened.

When she had subsided, Tifa pulled back and grabbed a bar napkin, holding it out to her. Yuffie wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

Softly, Tifa said, "I can't know exactly what it is you're going through right now, and I don't think you're going to tell me. That's fine. But you don't have to feel so alone. I'm a phone call away, and if you really need it you can call Cid and have him take you anywhere you need to go."

"I'm sorry," Yuffie said, barely audible. Her head was in her arms again, and Tifa moved away from her and settled in the bar stool to her right.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. I wish you would tell me, only so I could know a little better how to help you—but I know you must have your reasons. I trust you, Yuffie. I know you're doing the right thing."

Yuffie wished she had the confidence in herself that Tifa seemed to have in her. Nevertheless, Tifa's faith fortified her somewhat, and the journey back to Wutai that she would soon have to take did not seem nearly as daunting. She just needed _someone_ to trust her judgment, and here was someone. Maybe she could feel like she was doing the right thing and making good decisions if she could remember that her friends trusted her.

"Thanks for being my friend, Tifa," she said.

"No, thank _you_ for being my friend," Tifa said with a winning smile. "Now try this drink. You have to leave soon, and we might as well get a little buzzed first. Did I tell you Marlene made the honor roll at school? And Denzel's talking about trying out for a play..."

Tifa's chatter was oddly soothing, and Yuffie let it and the alcohol wash over her, trying to set her worries aside until she could handle them directly. She was not looking forward to the trouble that waited for her back in Wutai.

.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! Apologies if the last few chapters felt rushed – I haven't had the time to edit and beef things up that I'd like, what with finals quickly approaching and my applications to grad school due. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy this chapter.

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Yuffie was late for a training session with Chekhov. She and Cid had made pretty good time, but when they touched down she had about fifteen minutes to make her way to the palace. She decided to skip changing her clothes, even as stiff with travel as they felt, and just get to her session before her mentor decided to string her up as punishment for her many transgressions.

"You are _late!_" Chekhov screeched when she burst through the door into their training room. Knowing she looked a mess, Yuffie tried to suppress her gasps for breath after her mad dash to the dojo. No need to infuriate Chekhov further.

"I'm sorry!" she squawked as she received several stinging blows to the side of her head. "Cut it out, will you? I got here as fast as I could!"

"Got here as fast as you could?" Chekhov narrowed her eyes at Yuffie, her right hand cocked for further punishment. "If you had any sense, you wouldn't have left in the first place."

"I just took a short break, that's all," she said, trying not to feel selfish and failing. Now that she'd had twenty-four hours to cool off and survey the situation, she knew she'd been wrong to leave. Anything could have happened while she was gone.

Chekhov's threatening hands lowered and slipped behind her back as she studied Yuffie's face. Though Yuffie was not certain what Chekhov saw, some of the anger deserted her. Instead of more admonishments, she said simply, "You need more rest, your highness."

"I'm too busy being awesome to rest," Yuffie said, hoping to deflect Chekhov's concern. She knew better than anyone that she needed rest, but life just wasn't yielding lately.

Her plan backfired. Chekhov's nostrils flared, and she loomed over her young Empress. "Would you call beating up your husband awesome, my lady?"

Yuffie straightened, lifting her chin. She owed Tseng an apology, but she didn't owe Chekhov one. She didn't have to be sorry to someone who didn't even know the whole story. "No. How is he?"

"Besides a knock on the head, fine. As the wounds were minor, a potion sped the healing." Chekhov stared hard into her eyes, incredibly close. "What happened, Yuffie?" She so rarely used Yuffie's given name that the younger woman knew how seriously she felt about the situation.

"What would you say if I told you I don't want to talk about it and I'd rather get on with my training?" Yuffie asked after a beat.

On the one hand, she knew this move was somewhat unfair. Chekhov would defer to her. Yuffie was her Empress. Knowing her from birth to present did not change that for someone as strict as Chekhov. On the other, Yuffie internally quailed at the thought of explaining the file to Chekhov, for the same reasons she'd backed out of explaining to Tifa. She was embarrassed Tseng had the file in the first place, and she would rather not cause any more outrage than she had already expressed herself.

Chekhov said tightly, "Then meditate!" She muttered something that sounded like "too old for Kisaragis" and settled in her usual place near the far left corner of the room.

Yuffie assumed the lotus position with no small amount of relief that Chekhov would let it lie. She found, though, that after fifteen minutes of meditation, she was having no success in accessing Leviathan. She fell back onto the mats with an exaggerated scream of frustration.

She jabbed an accusing finger at her middle. "Don't think I don't know you're in there laughing at me, you stupid lizard!"

"You're a fool," Chekhov said. She had procured a paperback and looked oddly comfortable despite sitting on the floor.

"You're _reading_ while I'm slaving away over here?"

"I knew you would be useless tonight, so I thought I'd at least entertain myself." She lifted one silver eyebrow and turned a page.

Yuffie put her head in her hands in an attempt not to destroy everything within a five foot radius. "You knew?"

"I can see plainly that you have not taken my advice and resolved your issues with your husband. I'm not sure what other advice to offer you."

"I _tried!_ He's a jackass!"

"I saw your idea of 'trying' when I treated his head wounds the other night."

Right now, the ceiling was more interesting to Yuffie than it had ever been before. She slung one arm over her forehead and resigned herself to never mastering Leviathan. She'd just let him build inside her until some citizen said the wrong thing, then she'd blow them up with lizard laser eyes.

"Let's just say he wasn't completely innocent."

"When you were seven," Chekhov said, and Yuffie frowned at her shift in subject, "you blasted Shake ten feet across the dojo. I told your father you'd be the most powerful ruler Wutai's seen in a century."

Yuffie's eyes widened, and she sat straight up. Chekhov was still thumbing through her paperback looking bored. "What?"

"You heard me."

"As good as great-great-great Aunt Wu?"

"Better." Chekhov hid a yawn with her hand. "Sometimes, I fear you will never reach that potential."

Yuffie sighed, slumping. "I don't know if I ever will either."

"We will have to see. Now… meditate. I will not let you leave before the hour is up."

.

Two days later at the same time, Yuffie found herself alone in front of her mirror. Tonight she would attend the Kisaragi Charity Auction and Banquet.

Yuffie put the final touches on her makeup and exited her bedroom. There was no sign of Tseng. For the most part, they had avoided each other for the past forty-eight hours. Yuffie felt she owed him an apology for hurting him, but she was still angry. She didn't want him to feel he was in the right if she said she was sorry. Nevertheless, she hoped he wouldn't be late. Head injuries and explosive arguments or no, he needed to continue helping her uphold the image of a united marital front. Since they hadn't spoken any conversational words to each other in two days, she didn't feel comfortable asking about his plans regarding the auction.

She assumed he had arranged his own transportation, as she would be escorted by a guard in her own car. There was no sense in them traveling in the same car for a high profile event, thus making themselves an even greater target. Tseng had suggested it to Gorki himself, or so Yuffie had heard, and she couldn't help but wonder if part of his reasoning were to be further away from her.

Performing a last check over herself in the mirror, Yuffie came to the realization that, for the first time in her life, she felt sexy.

There was no denying that she was cute, pretty even, some days. She had spent most of her life up to this point being bouncy and cheerful and confident (or annoying, depending on who you asked). People found her nature either infuriating or endearing, and she knew she had a rockin' body, after years of training and kicking butt. But never before today had she truly felt, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, sexy.

Her hair, styled carefully, had been flattened on her skull in some places and pushed and teased for body in others. At the back of her head, it flared out in an attractive, shapely curve. Her stylist had gelled the hair into twisting, snakelike locks flat against her neck and her cheekbones. The black eyeliner and smoky gray shadow coordinated with her dark red lipstick to lend her a svelte, exotic look.

Beyond her hair, her makeup, and the tasteful pair of dangling silver earrings, however, the dress made the look. It appeared to have been glued to her body, either by industrial adhesive or magic, it was so sleek. The back reached all the way down to just above the curve of her bum, baring her naturally tan skin and toned back muscles for scrutiny. The bell-like sleeves dragged long toward her legs, but the cut stopped short at her elbows, exposing her arms. The neck scooped invitingly, a helpful push-up bra giving her some meager cleavage for the questing eye. A long slit up the right leg revealed even more of her smooth skin, just a flash of her thigh left unshielded by the dress and her strappy heels.

Yuffie fingered the burgundy fabric with its embroidered black blossoms and vines and decided that her designer had made the right choice, despite Yuffie's initial misgivings at just how small the dress looked on the mannequin. It was an interesting balance of Eastern and Western styles, very modern but tipping a hat to the traditional ways. She had never felt so exposed and yet, in total control.

Her feelings of control might be due, in part, to the tiny kunai that had been stashed around her person in various places. She preferred throwing stars but had chosen kunai for their sleeker shape—the better to hide them. On her left wrist, a bracelet with sharp, tiny spikes glinted in the low light.

Yuffie adjusted her jingling silver bangles and set out to find her ride.

Daiyu had offered the services of the Jade Dragon for the event, and the trip there was a nerve-wracking one. She could only pick at her outfit, trying not to muss her makeup. Her hair, though, she thought could probably withstand the barrage of ten WEAPONs and still hold its own. There was simply that much gel in it. She ghosted her hand lightly over the top of it, marveling at its hard texture but soft look. Her stylist had really done a number on her frustrating mop. If only Yuffie could spare the two hours required for the 'do more often.

The ride seemed to drag on interminably, lights in businesses flashing past and blurring into one long glow as she waited for arrival. Her palms felt greasy, but she dared not wipe them on her careful ensemble.

Finally, they arrived. Her chauffer opened the door, and she stepped one stiletto'd foot onto the red carpet, trying not to retreat at the hail of camera flashes.

"Your highness, why do you feel it is appropriate to sell artifacts of the state to foreigners?"

"My lady, rumor has it that there's a bun in the oven! Could you confirm or deny these allegations?"

"Has AVALANCHE any opinion on the auction and the guest list, Lady Kisaragi?"

She ignored them all, shoulders thrown back, confident in the camera lenses. Underneath her gall, a deep relief grasped her that she had assigned Shake to the press. He would make sure to limit the amount of reporters as well as screen the ones given access to the actual event. Shake's sharp manner and bullheadedness were perfect tools for handling pesky journalists.

A luxurious red carpet led directly into the Jade Dragon's open front door. She had never been intimidated by the dragon's mouth archway before, but now the fangs seemed somewhat ominous, and the green eyes twinkled in each flash of a camera. The face seemed almost alive, and she shook off a shiver as she traveled through the arch.

A ripple of silence began at the doors as she entered and people turned to see, then spread in a wave throughout the room as she stepped into the light. All heads turned toward her, quiet except for some urgent whispers. In response, Yuffie lifted her head high, exposing her long, graceful neck, and spread her hands in a gesture of welcome.

"Good evening, honored guests," she said, voice ringing powerfully over their heads. A darting glance pinpointed Cloud's infamous hair, and she knew Tifa would not be far behind. "I welcome you to the royal family's very first Charity Auction and Banquet. Thank you all for attending. I'd like to especially thank my dear friend Daiyu of Jade Dragon fame for providing the venue and the staff, as well as the honorable and ancient house of Saitou for their catering services."

She paused. Truth be told, that was as far as she had memorized. A bead of warm sweat tickled the back of her neck, and she made a split-second decision. There really was no use in trying to hide her true self for any significant duration of time, so she decided to just get on with it.

"Well, what are we all standing around for? Let's get this show on the road," she finished with a bright smile. Chuckles issued from the crowd as neighbors nudged each other and began moving to the upper floor, where the auction would be held. The lower floors housed the long tables filled with silver serving trays. She could not see what luxurious foods they hid, but Yuffie had no doubt that a combination of Saitou's and Daiyu's staff would yield impressive results.

Speaking of queens, she decided she must look the part of one, if the stares were any indication. She tried to ignore them as she moved toward the auction area. A familiar voice stopped her short, however.

"Hey, Princess—I mean, _Empress_ Kisaragi. You're lookin' like hot stuff tonight."

Yuffie turned, and to Reno's visible surprise, graced him with a shallow bow. "Reno," she said, unable to keep her genuine pleasure and amusement from her tone, "and Elena," she added, bowing to the blonde woman who trailed behind her redheaded partner.

She heard shutters clicking and knew the press would have a field day with her deference for the Shinra dogs. She didn't care. The world needed a reality check; she had respect for the ex-Turks. They worked for the WRO, and she would not tolerate any more bad words for them. They had done good work for a number of recent years, the world was not black and white, and she was tired of animosity, tired of games and grudges. She didn't know how long it might take for the world to move past its disastrous history with Shinra, but they were here to stay in one form or another. Yuffie decided then and there she would be the first to take steps toward peace.

"Where's Rude?" she said into the somewhat awkward silence. Elena and Reno didn't seem to know how to respond to her respect. She supposed they didn't experience it very often.

Reno smirked, recovering quickly. "He drew the short straw." He shrugged with one lazy shoulder. "Oh, well. The big guy was never really much for parties anyway."

Yuffie knew better than to question them. At most, they would be cryptic, but she also knew enough to guess Rude was probably perched on some high place with a slick new gun and a high-powered scope. Yuffie felt a little better at the thought and entertained, not for the first time, ideas of training her guards in some of the Turk methods.

"Yuffie!" Tifa's voice called from somewhere behind her.

She turned to the Turks. "Sorry, gotta go." She bowed shortly once more and turned to receive a crushing hug from her best friend. When she pulled back, Yuffie said, "You look like a dream I had once where I died and went to the lifestream." She tugged one of Tifa's spiral curls.

Tifa laughed. "Right back at ya, partner." She softened, studying Yuffie from top to bottom. "Seriously, you look amazing. Who did your hair? I'm jealous I didn't get to help this time, but they did a way better job than me."

Cloud came up behind her and let out a low wolf-whistle. "I hope you're hiding a stick somewhere in that getup, 'cause you're gonna have to beat the men back with it."

"Don't be silly, Cloud," Tifa said, eyeing Yuffie with a sly smile on her lips. "There's nowhere for her to put it."

Yuffie flushed, her skin darkening just a bit. "And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that."

"Not at all, my gorgeous friend," Tifa replied, offering her arm. "Shall we go? I think they're waiting on you up there." She lowered her voice and leaned into Yuffie's ear. "Besides, girl, you have to impress that no-good husband of yours. He's going to need a few cold showers when he sees you."

Yuffie let Tifa lead her into the auction room and down the middle aisle, aware that all eyes were on her and her long-time friend. When they found their seats in the very front row, on the aisle, she caught sight of Reeve on the other side, and he conveyed his approval with a grin and a subtle thumbs-up. From beside him, Cid raised an eyebrow and Shera smiled softly. Nanaki blinked his one eye at her, his glowing tail waving back and forth like a reed on the breeze. Vincent tipped his head in her direction. To her surprise, she spotted Daiyu—with a date. It seemed the son of the house of Uryuu was attending the function with her, and the older woman let out a sly smile in response to Yuffie's eyebrow wiggle.

She took her seat, trying not to look at the occupant of the chair next to her. Her lowered eyes caught a glance of a sleeve, done in a navy blue she thought must suit his dark hair and eyes. She wondered if their tailors had coordinated—black flowers very similar to hers accented his cuffs. She made sure no part of her touched him and proceeded to ignore his presence.

Rufus sat directly behind her, and she felt rather than saw him lean forward, his breath brushing the back of her neck as he murmured to her. "You look positively delightful, your highness."

Damn Rufus. Yuffie was still angry at him, but he had a way of wheedling past her defenses and charming her anyway. She couldn't resist tossing a smug "I know" over her shoulder.

When she was seated, a thin, gawky man in an awkward bow-tie and collared shirt stood and approached the podium at the front of the audience. He was out of place amid the lush curtains and flowering, potted plants, his mussed, boyish hair suggesting he had crawled out of a pile of books mere minutes before ascending the podium.

"Hello, and welcome, everyone. Thank you for having us all here tonight, Empress and Emperor Kisaragi," he said into the small microphone, which he adjusted for better reception of his voice. He peered out at the crowd over his glasses, small eyes shrewd. "My name is Shinichiro Jin, and I am the head of the school board for the city. I'd like to thank you all for attending this event. One hundred percent of profits from this auction will be donated toward the building and funding of ten new primary and secondary schools in the area. I'm not one for speeches, so I will just say, a big thank you from the school board and the city's youth for all you are doing for our great country of Wutai today.

"After all, the future of our world lies in the hands of our children. If not for education, that future is lost. Without further ado, I introduce you to our auctioneer for the evening, Ms. Li Rei."

Li Rei was one of Daiyu's friends, and she had been recommended for this job by Daiyu herself. Yuffie smiled at her friend's choice as the auctioneer's smoky, enticing voice curled over the crowd, describing the first object for sale: a hand-carved jade statue of Leviathan from the Zan Dynasty.

The bidding went back and forth, becoming more and more heated, until a man she recognized from an esteemed (but new-money) clan won the last bid for 556,000 gil.

Tseng's tense presence next to her kept her from gaping at the first sale. He had said not a single word to her since she sat beside him, as he had said barely anything to her since their fight. She had little hopes of repairing their relationship at this point, so she maintained the precedent of stony silence he had set.

The auction itself went very well, considering Yuffie never saw any sniper dots trained on any of the guests, and no one threw any live snakes in her hair and told her to dance a jig. All in all, she thought it was pretty much a success. With the difficult part out of the way, people would surely wish to relax during the banquet.

When the final item had been sold, bringing the total to around 5.3 million gil, Yuffie felt rather pleased with the whole event. As Li Rei informed the crowd that the bidding itself was over and the dining and dancing would soon begin, Yuffie rose with the audience. Then, her stomach bottomed out as she remembered that she and Tseng would have to lead the first dance, a long-standing Wuteng custom.

She tried to repossess the feeling of confidence and success from a moment ago and failed, instead breaking out in a cold sweat. She didn't even want to look at Tseng, much less touch him, dance with him. Calling on her ancestors for any shred of genetic talent toward acting the part of good little Empress, Yuffie signaled the live band to begin their first dance: a traditional Wuteng number, much like a waltz but with a great deal more physical contact than its Eastern counterparts.

They began with a short repetitive phrase, which would break once Yuffie and Tseng had located each other and begun. After she and Tseng had danced a few bars together, alone, the rest of their company would join.

Yuffie and Tseng's eyes locked across the open space, and though she wanted to resist, her feet carried her lightly over the floor, heels tapping as she went. In a few seconds, she found herself standing front-to-front with him, a couple inches of space between their chests. His black eyes sent a sizzle through her despite her best efforts, so she stared at his chest and tried not to punch him.

They began the prowl. Traditional Wuteng dances did not start with physical contact between the partners. They would dance close, circling around each other in an almost predatory manner until the last fourth of the song, in which he would take her into his arms. Wuteng dances exemplified the play of tension and restraint, a slow burning build to a dazzling finale.

Yuffie studiously did not meet Tseng's eyes, staring at some point on his left shoulder to gauge his movements. As the female partner, she would follow his lead, but whether or not she chose to do so did allow her some power in the dance. She could subtly pull the strings, leading him in one direction or another, while he guided the larger flourishes. Several times he led her into a series of dizzying spins and twirls, and she wondered in each instance if he were attempting to throw her off deliberately. As gawky and uncouth as she could be, though, Yuffie had a certain grace. On the battlefield she danced circles around her opponents, and years of training made it easy for her to translate this to the dance floor. Tseng could not outdance her even if he tried.

At one point, he bent over her, face very close, and when she could do nothing but direct her eyes toward him, he smiled with some derision. Yuffie scowled as he craned further over her torso, forcing her into a backbend of astonishing flexibility. The crowd gasped as her head stopped barely a foot above the floor and the slit in her dress revealed a small but enticing expanse of skin. They froze in this position for a dramatic moment, all of her muscles straining with the effort not to let his body make contact with hers.

The bridge of the song sounded, a signal for them to begin touching. The music slowed, the drumbeats dramatic and large in the dance hall, and Tseng reached out confident hands and took her firmly by the waist. She managed not to struggle as he easily hefted her into the air then let her slide down the front of his body at maddeningly slow pace until her feet hit the ground again.

When he touched her, she was torn between the goosebumps rising on her arms and the urge to punch him until he let go. They danced close for the required last fourth of the song, his black and red sleeves brushing the exposed parts of her body and making her shiver.

The dance ended as they struck their final pose, Tseng twirling her smoothly and wrapping her in his arms. Her back pressed to the buttons down the front of his chest. The band began the next tune, the crowd breaking into couples and singles heading to the banquet table to chat and eat. Yuffie and Tseng moved seamlessly apart with no communication. After the initial dance, they would be expected to grace secondary partners with their royal presences.

As Yuffie sought out Cid for her second dance, she couldn't help but notice that Tseng had apparently located Elena and engaged her. They were close, this Eastern slow tune less artful than the Wuteng opener. She ignored the irrational spike of jealousy at their heads bent toward each other, their lips moving in an inaudible but obviously warm conversation if their smiles were any indication.

She knew, from this, that Tseng was not above attempting to get under her skin. As poised as he acted, he could be just as petty as her, and somehow, this made her feel a bit better about their situation. The few times she'd compared herself to Tseng, she'd found herself lacking, but this display of subtle childishness spawned Yuffie's realization that even the head of the Turks was not a model of perfection and adulthood all the time. Understanding this softened him somewhat in her eyes, made him more human and accessible. She felt the last several days' anger crumble at the edges.

Then, a hand clamped down on her shoulder and pulled her flush against another body. Yuffie had time to register the scent of a woman's perfume, then something cool and blunt nudged her temple. From behind her right ear, a feminine voice said slowly, "All of you move back five paces, or the Princess dies."

Activity ceased in waves, starting with the people nearest Yuffie and her captor. Tseng turned first, almost before the woman had finished speaking, and she noticed his hand twitch toward a particular place in his robes.

"Shinra dog," the woman said sharply, "do you wish me to spill your White Rose's blood? No? Hands up."

A muscle in his jaw jumped, and his chin lifted with his empty hands. Other than that, he made no moves toward her. Yuffie's own hands itched to reach for her kunai. _Triple crap. How could I be so careless? _

"Well, go on," she hissed. "Either name your demands, or kill me."

By this point, the entire crowd had gone silent, everyone turning to watch. Tseng narrowed his eyes at her and gave a slight shake of her head.

Alarm zinged through her when the woman dug the gun further into Yuffie's temple. She felt the telltale tingle of Leviathan's magic pricking at her extremities, in her gut, and she tried very hard to clamp down on the god's defensive response. No need to complicate the situation further by turning into a human lamp.

"Listen, all of you. Foreigners, traitors, disgraces to Wutai," the woman said in a low, cool voice. Despite the relatively dulcet tones of her speech, her tone carried across the heads of the now-silent crowd. "Selling the artifacts of ancestral Wutai will be tolerated no longer. Our Empress," and here she spat the word like something foul, "will face the consequences of her dishonorable actions. She has been a plague to this country and our god Leviathan for her entire miserable life. From her lazy failure of a father, to her weak mother—"

Yuffie snarled. "Say another word about my mother, you fu—"

"Silence. Any more from you, and I'll pull this trigger. I don't care how long I have to rot in jail, as long as the people know the tru—"

At that moment, Yuffie seized her opportunity. The spiked bracelet on her left wrist would find its purpose now. With a quick thrust, too fast for her assailant to react, she jabbed the woman in the belly. The tiny spines found their intended target, surprising the assailant and setting her off balance. Yuffie pushed away just before a gunshot sounded, sending the woman down in a spray of blood.

The warm liquid peppered Yuffie's neck and chest as she stumbled backward. The crowd shifted further away at the gunfire, and she sent a silent prayer of thanks to the gunner—Rude, she suspected, as no one on her level had had time to draw arms.

The ringing in her ears dulled, and she realized belatedly that the woman was still alive. The shot had lodged in her back, and her death would be a slow one. Yuffie's hands were bristling with kunai, and Tseng was beside her with gun drawn, watching the surrounding crowd for any signs of movement.

"Who sent you?" she spat, feeling utterly savage.

The woman laughed, red coating her tongue and teeth. "I will die before I tell you, disease of my motherland."

"I can make your death quick if you tell me who sent you," Yuffie whispered, her voice a dangerous caress. She flipped one of her tiny daggers into the air and caught it, the blade flickering in the chandelier-light.

The woman laughed again, and Yuffie looked quickly at Tseng as he stepped forward and placed one hard shoe on her hand.

"Tell us who sent you, or I will ensure you live long enough to suffer," he said quietly.

"It doesn't matter," she said with a mocking, triumphant smile. "You'll all be dead in five minutes anyway."


	16. Chapter 16

"_It doesn't matter. You'll all be dead in five minutes anyway."_

Tseng lifted his free hand into the air and made a short, quick signal. Reno and Elena appeared from the crowd like smoke, dragging the injured attacker away with astonishing efficiency. A smear of blood marred the carpet in her wake.

"Barret! Cid!" Yuffie barked. "Clear the building, _now!_"

The silence broke like a wave on the sand. As Yuffie struggled to move closer to Tseng's side, whispers built to a dull roar, and people began to move to the exit. Yuffie was sure the panic was soon to follow, though. She hadn't said the word "bomb," but she could think of no other explanation for the assailant's threat.

As she reached Tseng, Rude appeared to his left, and Reeve surfaced to her right.

"Good shot, Rude," Tseng said. The larger man smiled in reply.

Yuffie looked to the two of them, deciding she might as well put Rude to good use if the Turks were going to be constantly in Wutai anyway. "Rude, Reeve. I'm ninety-nine percent sure there's a bomb in this building. I need you to find it and disarm it."

Reeve patted her shoulder before setting off with Rude, speaking rapidly as the larger man replied in a low, terse voice. Yuffie turned from them to find herself facing Cloud, Tifa, Nanaki, and Tseng.

"My Empress," Tseng said, looking at her with steely eyes. When he addressed her that way, she knew whatever problems they'd had would be at least temporarily on the backburner. He was ready for her command. "Do you think you can help Reno and Elena get some information out of that woman?"

With a nod, he turned smartly on his heel and vanished into the fray.

She turned to AVALANCHE. She didn't have time to dwell on how easily they looked to her. "Nanaki, maybe you can help Reeve and Rude. Put that sniffer to good use."

He bowed to her and raced off after the other two, flame-tail bobbing behind him.

"Tifa, Cloud, secure the perimeter. Once all the civilians are clear, make sure no one who isn't a guard or one of us gets in."

"We're on it," Tifa said, slipping her heels off and pulling gloves onto her hands as she spoke. Cloud had procured his sword from someplace, and Yuffie made a mental note to ask him later how the hell he managed to hide that thing.

As Cloud and Tifa departed, she flexed her hands, feeling suddenly alone, and decided to go after Reeve and Rude.

Yuffie knew from experience that the Jade Dragon had a small wing for offices. She took the stairs two at a time, praying fervently that she wouldn't twist an ankle in her ridiculous shoes, and sprinted past the auction area toward the inconspicuous door she knew was in the back left corner of the room. Half-hidden by strategically placed plants and curtains, it had been left ajar after Reeve, Rude, and Nanaki entered.

For some reason, as she ran, she thought about Tseng and what he would be doing. A rather large part of her, she was surprised to note, hoped that he was safe. She rounded a corner, barely managing to pass the wall without smacking or skidding into them, and finally came upon an open door. Light spilled onto the carpet in the otherwise dark wing.

When she stepped into the open doorway, she stopped short at the sight that greeted her. Rude, Nanaki, and Reeve bent over the only desk in the room, which housed a veritable rat's nest of wires attached to a machine and a counter. The clock read 7:38. It ticked toward zero faster than Yuffie thought possible. Surely seconds couldn't go by that fast.

"Is there anything I can do?" she gasped, laboring for breath and keyed up on adrenaline.

"I feel like I can work this out," Reeve replied through gritted teeth. A bead of sweat crawled down his cheekbone and into his collar, leaving a glistening trail. He reached for one cord, threading it through his fingers as he searched for the source. His hand stopped as Rude murmured a quiet warning, and Yuffie felt sick just watching them.

Nanaki pinned her with his one gleaming eye. "You must leave, Yuffie. If you fall, Wutai falls."

"No, what can I do to help?" she insisted stubbornly. "What can I do, Reeve?"

Rude faced her, and she struggled to remember a time she had seen him so tense. "Find Tseng."

He was right. She needed to protect her most valuable assets, and as much as she hated to admit it, Tseng was her most valuable asset at this time. She nodded and made a move to run, then halted to make a split-second decision. The shoes had to go. Once her toes sank into the carpet, she felt somehow surer.

It took her less than a minute to clear the hallways and the large banquet hall. At the front door, Cloud and Tifa waited, and she skidded to a stop.

"Where did Tseng go?"

Cloud pointed to a van across the parking lot, and Yuffie took off for it.

The back doors were open, sending a deceptively warm glow into the cold night. Sirens wailed in the distance. Heedless to the temperature and her bare feet smacking the concrete, Yuffie almost ran into the van in her haste to reach it.

"Tseng!"

"Here," she heard him say.

The woman strapped to the table looked barely alive, her dark green dress now stained and leaking unrecognizable fluids. Her skin was stretched taut and sallow in the lightbulbs' glow, and Yuffie almost didn't want to know what they had been doing to her.

"They found the bomb," Yuffie said. "They're trying to disarm it now."

"We can't get any information out of her." Elena's mouth made a pale slash in her face.

Seized by a sudden determination, Yuffie hopped into the van despite Elena's and Reno's protests and leaned in close to the woman's face. Despite her recent blockage, she felt Leviathan stir, filling her to her extremities like a liquid.

"Tell me who sent you," she growled. Even though there was no wind to speak of, her hair lifted from her head as if blown by some unfelt breeze.

The woman's eyes widened. Yuffie could see red staining the corner of her mouth. The next word was difficult for her to say, but the satisfaction in her eyes was easy to read. "No."

"Leviathan commands it," Yuffie intoned, her voice brimming with power. "Disobey me, and you disobey Him." Her voice sounded like several voices layered over one another, and the power of her presence blew back the woman's hair and vibrated the floor of the van.

"I... can't," she said through gritted teeth. She squirmed in her restraints, struggling to clutch at her wounded back and to move away from Yuffie.

Before the woman could answer, her eyes rolled back into her head and she bucked, foam spilling from her mouth. Reno and Elena grabbed her by the shoulders and attempted to hold her down, having trouble despite their combined weight.

"She's seizing," Tseng murmured.

After a few long seconds, the terrible, guttural noises from her throat ceased and she fell limp. Reno and Elena relaxed at some signal from Tseng

Yuffie turned her attention back toward the building and saw a familiar figure running full tilt toward her. Despite her high geta and restrictive kimono layers, she cut across the parking lot with astonishing speed and grace that spoke of years of practice.

"Daiyu!" Yuffie called and waved. In moments, the older woman had skidded to a stop, heaving for air. Before Yuffie could speak again, Daiyu shoved a clipboard into her hands. Close behind her was a man Yuffie suddenly recognized as the polite, gentle Uryuu from her suitors' luncheon, and she filed this information away for a more appropriate time.

"The guest list," she gasped.

"Thank you, Daiyu. " She began to turn for Tseng, but then she saw it, flickering out of sight beyond the dark perimeter of the parking lot. A shadow that didn't belong.

Yuffie didn't think, she just dropped the clipboard and ran, heedless of Daiyu calling her name.

She followed the figure into the dark streets and down the labyrinthine alleyways of the capital, listening the entire time for the tell-tale sounds of the explosion occurring. Would Reeve get out all right? Would they disarm the bomb? What would the press say about this? They'd have a field day. A million thoughts rushed through her head at once, revolving around each other like dogs chasing tails.

She lost sight of her target at a three-way-split. Bent double and clutching her waist, she wondered if they had gotten the bomb under control. Surely an explosion would have occurred by now?

Footsteps echoed behind her, and she whirled, kunai at the ready.

Tseng held up his hands, one empty and the other clutching a handgun. "Hold your fire."

"Tseng." She knew she must look disheveled and desperate, but she had abandoned all sense of poise. "I fucking lost him."

"Then pick a direction and hope we get lucky," he said.

She closed her eyes for just a moment, prayed to Da Chao to guide her, and picked the rightmost path. They ran. Even in his dress shoes, Tseng was silent as a ghost. No sound emanated from Yuffie's practiced feet hitting the ground.

Yuffie wasn't entirely sure how she knew they had chosen the right path. She could swear she heard the sound of soft footfalls ahead of them, as well as the skitter and scratch of recently disturbed rodents running for cover. It felt impossible that she could hear their target over the sounds of her own heavy breathing and her heartbeat thundering in her ears, but there was no mistaking it.

She felt aware of her surroundings in way she never had before, almost as if she were perceiving things on an entirely new level. The smell of garbage was no longer a jumble of odors but rather a subtle mixture of rot, rainwater, and living creatures. The air seemed almost alive, electric as it slid across her bare skin. Leviathan simmered in her mind, faint but present, and Yuffie thought this most likely had to do with the god.

Upon reaching one fork in the path, she paused and listened. She could swear she heard just the faintest trace of Tseng's heartbeat. The more pressing sound of their target escaping intruded though, and she chose the right path.

They'd been running for at least a minute-and-a-half. She wondered how much time was left on the bomb; with some struggle, she set the thought aside as Tseng's hand made gentle contact with her shoulder. He put a finger to his lips, leaned very close to her ear, and said in a threadbare whisper, "Ten feet, then rush."

They closed the gap quickly, and then Yuffie put the jets on, tossing knives in directions she hoped would be mostly non-fatal. They needed answers, not another corpse.

She felt it the instant something went wrong. Something in the atmosphere snagged, and so she put her foot on the nearby wall, and time seemed to slow. The pores of the bricks were stark against the ball of her foot, and she felt every scrape as she pivoted. Her body weight and momentum launched her a few feet into the air, just the advantage she needed. She heard the air part as a kunai whistled through the space where she'd just been standing. Tseng had taken a cue from Yuffie's evasive maneuver, tucking and rolling.

_I'm lucky he's so nimble_, Yuffie thought. In her haste to move out of the way, she'd almost forgotten him. She would have to pay more attention to her Leviathan-enhanced reflexes.

Things were moving fast once more. She impacted with the opposite wall and slid down painfully, scraping an exposed knee on the bricks. Holding back a hiss, Yuffie fell to the other knee, thankful she'd discarded the heels by this point.

Their shadowy target had wall-bounced his way to a clothesline above them and used it to swing over their heads and run in the other direction, letting loose a deadly spray of kunai. She winced as the wound stretched but rose anyway, fueled by adrenaline and the need to do something to fix the utter mess her life had become. If she could just find one lead, _one_ solid lead, maybe she could begin to set things right.

Scrabbling noises came from around the corner where the figure had disappeared. Dimly, she registered Tseng recovering from his second kunai-dodge. He turned to lock eyes with her, a question on his features. He was waiting for her signal.

They went as a unit, and Yuffie—with a combination of her sensitized ears and a dash of guesswork—assumed their assailant had scaled a wall in order to slip away. She ran, jumped, and grabbed the ledge of a fire escape, then swung her body up to a stable position.

With some careful maneuvering, she managed to creep onto the third story windowsill above her, precariously balanced on the balls of her feet. One wrong move, and she knew—

She teetered as one foot slipped and hung in open space. Arms pinwheeling, ribs squeezing with the half-hitch dread that comes before a fall into thin air, Yuffie struggled to regain her balance. Just as her center of gravity shifted decisively in the wrong direction, she felt a sharp push on the bottom of her still-half-cocked foot, which set her balance to rights. She looked down, and Tseng's dark eyes, luminous in the moonlight, met hers. "Thanks."

Yuffie braced herself as best she could on the tiny ledge and coiled her legs, leaping like a well-oiled spring onto the opposite roof. With some serious effort, she heaved herself over the edge, grinding her exposed elbows across the pebbly stone in the process. She rolled over and reached into open space just in time to help catch Tseng, who gripped her forearms hard. His handprints would most likely be engraved in lurid bruises on her arms come morning.

She hauled him up, putting some serious back into it. "You all right?" she asked, checking him for damages. She hadn't seen how he'd fared with the rapid-fire attacks of their target.

"Fine. Let's move."

He didn't have to tell her twice: she took off like a shot, a running leap sending her flying over the gap to the next building. She tried not to wince as her soft insteps scraped against the gravel rooftops. The pain went out of her mind when her right foot caught on something and sent her rolling across concrete, grunting with pain as her already bruised body took more abuse.

In an effort to salvage her mistake, Yuffie maneuvered into a roll and ended up behind the hulking frame of a climate control unit. Three sharp kunai clangs alerted her of their target's presence and also of her close shave. She put her back to the unit, spotting the trip wire that had caught her. Tseng crouched on the other side of it, concealed by a huddle of metal chimneys with a brick base. With dismay, Yuffie saw he had a hand clutching his lower left arm.

Meeting her gaze, he nodded once as if to say all was well. She mentally chided herself for her worry. _Tseng's not gonna go down from one little hit to the arm, stupid._

Movement had her eyes snapping to the left. There, in the shadows out of reach of the moon and the streetlights, something shifted. Yuffie was sure she'd been spotted, but she needed to either find a better vantage point or possibly move closer to Tseng. She tried to crawl in his direction, only to half-fall out of the path of a projectile.

She wasn't quick enough. Pain burst across the left side of her skull. Warm, sticky blood streamed down her neck, and her ear felt like it was on fire. Before she could be struck again, she scrambled back behind the metal unit. It was up to Tseng until she could figure something else out.

The chimneys did not offer enough cover for Tseng's larger frame. Light sparked off three kunai, and Tseng lifted his gun and fired, diving to one side. He landed hard on one hip, and she could tell from the way his body convulsed that he'd caused himself some pain.

Cover was sparse on the roof, and they were both tired from the chase and the events of the night. A stab of panic ripped through her belly when she saw what was about to happen next. Tseng scrambled ungracefully in an attempt to guard himself, but he wouldn't be fast enough, and he was moving in the wrong direction.

Yuffie tracked the upswing of the assailant's arms, the gleam of the kunai in the streetlamps, and she opened her mouth to scream, sprang forward to do something, anything, to protect Tseng. Pure instinct had flooded her, guided her, but she wouldn't make it. She wouldn't make it. She was the fastest goddamn person she knew, and even with the crackle and spark of Leviathan's tenuous, pockmarked link fueling the energy in her feet, her legs, her screaming heart, she wasn't going to be able to help him.

Before she could even call out a warning or move more than a few feet from her original position, before the kunai could be loosed from the assassin's skilled fingers, before Tseng could even change facial expressions, a tremendous _boom _rent the air. The roof shook and sent Yuffie tumbling, her bare hands going to stop her fall, rolling on her elbows to redistribute her weight.

The rumbling that accompanied the sound stopped, but an orange glow lit the distance, and Yuffie's stomach bottomed out. Reeve. Nanaki. Rude. They had failed to disarm the bomb.

Another crack tore through the air, shattering Yuffie's dismay to pieces. She jerked from her sprawl and looked toward Tseng. He had also hit the roof at the explosion, but in the confusion, while she and the attacker had been too stunned to recover immediately, he had lifted his gun and fired.

She dragged herself toward him, knees too weak to lift her yet. Dimly, she registered the scrape of her dress across the roof but ignored it in favor of moving toward the Emperor.

"Tseng," she said again, this time louder. He had been lying in place, watching their target to see if he or she would make any more moves. When none seemed forthcoming, he swiveled to meet her gaze.

"Are you all right?" he asked immediately, his dark eyes sweeping her for injuries. He looked concerned for a moment.

"I'm okay." She blurted what was really on her mind, unable to stop herself. "Are you?"

"I'm fine," Tseng said, his face drawn tense as he stared at the light on the horizon, the faint impression of black smoke curling from a source just beyond their line of sight.

Yuffie looked with him, torn. She wanted so desperately to sprint back as fast as she could and find Reeve, find Nanaki, hell, even find Rude and make sure they were all right, touch them with her own hands, kiss them on their furry (well, not in Rude's case) faces. She hoped, violently, that they were all right.

She tucked her fear deep inside and rose, offering Tseng her hand. He took it, and the press of his slightly sweaty hand almost made her feel better.

"Your arm..."

He shrugged with his good shoulder. "A few stitches, maybe. Let's take a look at what we got."

"I think you killed him," Yuffie said as they approached the body. A huge, dark pool had spread around the body, and she saw up close that it was a man this time, the chest flat and unmoving under the espionage get-up. She poked him in the side with her bare toe, grimacing. He moved, but not of his own accord, body lolling and then settling in the sticky puddle. "Oh, grossness. You definitely killed him."

Tseng cursed as well, under his breath. "I should have been more careful."

She raised her eyebrows. "Did better than me anyway." She nodded toward the corpse. "Let's search him."

Some rifling through his clothes produced what she had expected: nothing. She lifted her eyebrows when Tseng began stripping the shirt from his body. He raised the right arm, then looked under the left and paused.

At first glance, she thought there was nothing, but then her eyes traced the path of an old scar across his chest. It started around his sternum and traced its gnarled way to the armpit, and finally, she saw the object of Tseng's attention. A black teardrop tattoo was partially concealed by the knotted tissue. She could tell there was more to the image, but the old wound had obscured it somewhat.

"Interesting," Tseng murmured.

"Have you seen it before?" She crouched in order to get a closer look.

His mouth drew down. "I'm not sure." After a short ruffle through his pockets and shoes which revealed nothing, he stood and brushed himself off. "We'd better head back." He must've seen her expression, the way her muscles tensed for flight, because he reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. "They have plenty of help even without us, so save your strength."

Struggling deeply with the idea of actually taking her time to get back when her friends could be dead, Yuffie's eyes slipped closed, her hands fisted, and she nodded, reluctantly. Tseng was right, as much as she hated to admit that.

With one long, last look at another dead lead, they turned and began the slow trip back toward the night's disaster.


	17. Chapter 17

By the time Yuffie and Tseng reached the Jade Dragon again, everything ached. Her scraped elbows, her torn, throbbing feet, and especially her cut ear, which pulsed in time with her heartbeat. Fatigue had begun to drag on her, and moving her abused feet was a struggle.

As she and Tseng made their way closer to the restaurant, the lights grew brighter, the sounds louder. On their way back, she'd heard sirens and figured the fire brigade must have arrived. The slums, only a few blocks over, could go up like kindling if they didn't stop the blaze.

When they found themselves once again at the mouth of the alley where they had begun their chase, Yuffie stopped to survey the destruction. Tseng halted just behind her, his presence dwarfed by the raging inferno before them. There was no way Daiyu's restaurant could be salvaged. At this point, the firefighters were just containing the blaze, ensuring it did not spread to the neighboring businesses.

Yuffie's eyes scanned across the crowd of observers, whose faces were cast in strange shadows by the jittery flames. Her eyes lit on Reeve. To his right Nanaki, Tifa, and Cloud also watched in rapt attention as what was left of the Jade Dragon burned to the ground.

"Reeve!" she called, waving her arms. He turned, and when Tifa noticed his shift in attention, the others followed. She saw her own relief mirrored in their faces as they moved to meet her halfway. "Is everyone okay?" She hobbled over, her injuries a little less painful knowing at least a few of her friends had made it out.

"We're all fine," he said. "I'm sorry I couldn't save the place. I bought some time when I managed to disable the clock, but the bomb had a failsafe."

She frowned, scanning him. "You sure you're okay? No lasting psychological traumas?"

"What happened?" Reeve asked.

She felt too tired to explain, so she turned to Tseng. "Maybe you should tell them."

He proceeded to recount their pursuit and eventual elimination of the assassin, all the way up to the discovery of the tattoo. Yuffie described the tear drop-shaped fragment in detail, but none of them seemed to have a clue about its origins.

"I'll see if I can find anything about it," Reeve said after a ponderous silence.

She was about to say, "You do that," but someone interrupted. "My lady," said Daiyu, who had been a few feet away talking to Uryuu in a low voice.

"I promise you," Yuffie said ferociously, pinning Daiyu with her gaze, "I'll rebuild the Jade Dragon, if I have to do it with my bare hands."

With surprising serenity, Daiyu said, "Do not trouble yourself. I have insurance for times such as these."

Nevertheless, Yuffie felt partially responsible for the catastrophe. This restaurant had been Daiyu's life's work, and she knew she would have to pay at least part of the cost for rebuilding it. Since Daiyu did not seem troubled, she tucked these thoughts away and slanted a look toward Uryuu. He did a very good imitation of a man who was not eavesdropping. "You didn't tell me you had a boyfriend."

A shadow of guilt flitted over the older woman's face. "I did not mean to keep it from you, my lady."

Instead of responding, Yuffie met Uryuu's sidelong gaze. "Just know, I have the power to hurt you," she said with a cheerful smile.

"Of course, my Empress," he said with a dip of his head. He looked so serious, the lines in his face speaking to his years. He looked so serious, she felt the wind go out of her sails a bit.

Daiyu held out an object that had been tucked under her arm. "Perhaps you will find this useful."

"Good thinking," she said, taking the guest list and flipping past the decorative cover, through the thick, creamy pages.

Despite being such a small book, Yuffie thought it seemed very heavy all of a sudden. She closed it to gather her wandering thoughts, and the embroidery on the cover seemed to shift and morph before her eyes.

"Yuffie, are you all right?" Tifa asked in a quiet voice.

"I just need to sleep," she said.

"Tseng should take you back to the palace."

"We can manage everything here if you need to leave," Reeve said.

"I need to be here to help," she said. _Why am I so tired? I can barely keep my eyes open._

"My lady." Her husband had taken Tifa's place behind Yuffie's shoulder, and he was a solid presence at her back. She wanted to slide down him like a wall, curl up and just sleep for a very, very long time.

"Can you walk?" he asked in a low voice, looping her limp arm through his. She swayed on her feet.

The contact reminded her she was supposed to be angry with him. Weakly, Yuffie shrugged him off. "I can walk."

He took her arm again in a gentle grip. She contemplated continuing the fight, but as her eyelids sank and her muscles sagged, she knew she needed his help. The anticipation of getting back to her bed almost made her weep with relief.

"Just a little farther," he said as he made his way to the car she guessed he had arrived in.

A sharp voice cut through the fog of her exhaustion. "Empress Kisaragi, do you think you can tell us—"

"If you will excuse us," Tseng said to the encroaching reporter, who was drawing the attention of more vulture-like media reps.

The reporter persisted. "Do you have any idea who could be behind such an attack? Where were you when the explosion occurred?"

"Move aside," he said, and his clipped tone brooked no argument. The young man seemed to sense something in Tseng's demeanor that he did not want to challenge and backed off. Tseng took the opportunity to open the door and buckle Yuffie in. A moment later, he had settled himself in the driver's seat, and they were on their way back to the palace.

She nodded off and slipped into a shallow slumber, occasionally awakened by bumps in the road. She had just begun to really give in to sleep when they pulled to a stop, and Tseng turned the engine off. Sharp white light hit her eyes as he opened the door, exposing her to the light of the garage.

The thought of standing up and walking down several hallways to get to their rooms was daunting, and Yuffie struggled to sit up. "Do you need me to carry you?"

At the thought of anyone crossing their paths and witnessing her laid out in his arms like a baby, she pulled on her deepest reserves of energy and managed to swing her legs out of the car and stand. When she leaned heavily on his arm, he refrained from comment.

After what felt like an eternity, they arrived in their rooms, and Yuffie almost collapsed at the sight of the bed. Tseng took a moment to close the door behind them, and she tottered over and planted her face in the mattress.

She was too tired, at this point, to get properly into her pajamas, and she didn't have enough energy to care about modesty. With her best half-dead snake imitation, she wriggled out of her destroyed shoes and got halfway out of her dress before she got stuck. The thought of asking for help seemed awful, but she sent Tseng a somewhat pleading look all the same.

Without saying a word and carefully, as though afraid to frighten her, Tseng picked up one utterly relaxed wrist and began removing her bracelet. She was too tired to feel mortified or angry. His hands were warm and gentle, and she was reminded of her mother. The memory was vague as vapor through her mind, a ghostly recall of cool hands on her brow in the throes of fever.

"Do you remember hitting your head at any point this evening?" Tseng asked as he unclipped her earrings and necklace.

"No," she said. "Just tired. Can I sleep?"

"As soon as we're done with this," he replied, unzipping her dress fully and pulling it down her legs with no-nonsense efficiency. She noticed, then, that he sounded nearly as tired as she did. With a little maneuvering, he slipped the blankets from underneath her prone body and settled them over top of her. After a few moments, the bed dipped under his weight as he slid in beside her.

Before sleep took her, she mumbled, "I wish it could be like this all the time. I wish we could just… be okay."

She almost didn't hear him when he replied. "We are okay, Yuffie."

.

She woke in the late afternoon. The bedside clock glared 3:30 pm at her. The winter sunlight retained some of its harshness even through the deadening effect of the curtains.

When she remembered what exactly had happened the previous night, her first impulse was to crawl back under the covers and spend the rest of the day there. She decided, though, to get dressed and face the world like a big kid. _So Tseng saw you in your undies. Big deal._

Just as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, the door opened and her husband entered. Yuffie scrambled to cover herself. He had a tray of food in one hand and a newspaper in the other. As he kicked the door closed behind him, he lifted his head and his eyes lit on her. He set the tray of food on the table beside the bed.

Sounding as awkward as she felt, Yuffie said, "Hi."

"Did you sleep well?"

Instead of answering, she reached a hand out to take his newspaper. Quickly, Tseng pulled it away from her, pushing the tray forward with the other hand.

"Food first, then news," he replied simply, cracking open the paper with his back turned to her so that she couldn't see the subject of his reading.

Her stomach growled loudly, and without further ado, Yuffie dug in to her seasoned rice gruel with single-minded determination. Everything else be damned, she could enjoy food at least. When she was finished a scant ten minutes later, she set her chopsticks down with a deliberate clatter.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, folding the paper and scanning her face.

"Good as new," she lied. She was sore, not to mention still tired. His eyes narrowed, and she pasted on a cheerful smile.

In the silence, she felt nervous and blurted out, "Thanks." At his questioning look, she went on, "For last night, I mean."

"You're welcome," he said, and despite his serious expression she saw a hint of approval in his eyes and around his mouth. The newspaper's pages rustled as he held it out to her. "You should read this."

Yuffie's gaze fell on the front page, where a fantastic picture of the Jade Dragon glared at her, the flames lighting up the dark canvas of the sky around it. In the foreground, she leaned against Tseng looking half-dead while he cast death glares at the reporters surrounding them.

_KISARAGI CHARITY EVENT ENDS IN FIERY DISASTER_

_Empress Alarmingly Silent on the Situation_

Her mouth dropped open in outrage. "Those _bastards!_"

She took the offered paper and scanned the story, nearly ripping it to shreds when she reached the bystander interviews.

_"Though I have the utmost respect for the Empress, I wonder if the stress of ruling has overwhelmed her. One wonders how she might have handled this unfortunate incident with a better choice in husband," commented guest Shiga Daitaro. _

"That rat bastard's still pissed I rejected him," she said to Tseng.

"There's more," he replied, gesturing for her to continue reading.

The rest of the article consisted of a scathing criticism of her recent ruling decisions and questions as to her ability to handle the throne. When she lowered the newspaper, she let it cover her hands, which shook with rage.

"That's not the only one," Tseng said.

She tipped her head back to look at the canopy and sighed. "I have to figure out what to say to the press."

"The Mighty Gods request your presence in the meeting room for just that purpose," Tseng added, rising. "I'll meet you there."

She sighed as he left, moving toward the bathroom to shower before she faced the music.

Tseng, Shake, Gorki, Staniv, and Chekhov rose and bowed when she entered the room. She tried not to roll her eyes as she took her seat.

"I take it you've all seen the papers?"

"They didn't get your good side," Shake replied.

"They have a talent for not getting your good side," Chekhov added.

She frowned. "I'll release a statement to them as soon as we have any idea of what to say."

"What happened last night?"

She launched into a retelling of the events which had transpired. Only when she described the tattoo did the Mighty Gods bring anything useful to the table, however.

"Could it be-but no, there's no way," Gorki murmured, his round face tense.

"Care to share with the class?" Yuffie waved a hand in front of his face.

"We'd been hearing rumors, but we didn't believe them until—"

"What rumors?" Yuffie asked sharply.

Gorki ran his hands through his thinning hair. "My informants in the black market have been reporting rumors of activity from the Black Flower Syndicate."

"What? Who?" Yuffie looked around the room in bewilderment. She saw that Shake looked just as confused as she did, but Staniv had stiffened, and Chekhov gripped the table with her gnarled fingers.

"How can you be sure?" Chekhov breathed. Yuffie had never heard the rock-solid woman sound so frightened.

"Wait a minute," Yuffie interjected. "What the hell is the Black Flower Syndicate? I know we have trouble with gang activity sometimes, but a crime syndicate?"

"They were the demon of Wutai before you were born. When your Great Aunt Wu had the throne, the Black Flower Syndicate was the scourge of her days," said Staniv. "Empress Wu had much trouble with them, as they had most of Wutai's business either in their pockets or too scared to move against them. They were led by a man named Kurosaki, born into money which he used to control the private sector."

"He was a terrible man," Chekhov said, folding her hands in her lap and looking grave. "It was an act of the Gods that he disappeared when he did."

Yuffie supposed she and Shake were too young to have known about the Black Flower Syndicate. Chekhov, Staniv, and even Gorki seemed haunted by the shadow of this memory. "Why haven't I heard about any of this before?" she asked, frowning.

Gorki cleared his throat. "A few years before the Wutai-Shinra War, Kurosaki disappeared, and the organization never recovered."

"The tragedy of the Wutai-Shinra War pushed aside the memory of the Black Flower Syndicate," Chekhov admitted. "Much has happened since then."

"And you say they're active again? What does that mean?" Yuffie asked Gorki.

"A mole I have planted in the black market has reported seeing a resurgence of the Black Flower insignia."

"What does it look like?" Shake asked.

"There's a picture in the file," Gorki said. Yuffie thumbed through the papers until she discovered a printed photo of a black flower with red markings. It didn't look like the tattoo on their assassin, but that marking had been obscured. It was entirely possible he'd had this black flower before the scarring had destroyed all but a portion of it. "Members of the organization had this tattooed on them."

"Do you know why they might be re-activating?"

Gorki shook his head. "I don't know. My informants haven't returned anything noteworthy, but we're working on turning up something more useful."

Yuffie stared at the table, pondering the continued problems in Wutai. It always seemed to be one step forward, two steps back with her ancestral home. She sighed. "If that's all the information you have, let's set this aside. What else is on the agenda?"

"This might be of some use," Tseng said, reaching into a briefcase at his feet and fishing out a clipboard.

"Remind me to thank Daiyu again," Yuffie said, taking the offered guest list. She flipped through idly, unsure of what she might find, then stopped and frowned on reaching the "S" section. There was no entry for Shiga Daitaro, and she remembered now that she'd forgone inviting him when it came time to narrow down the guest list. Faced with limited space option, she had snipped him from the final list at the memory of his rude behavior in the palace. _So what was he doing at the Jade Dragon?_

Gorki reached over and took the clipboard out of her hands, interrupting her puzzling thoughts. "I'll have to peruse this."

She tried to say, "I wasn't done with that," but Shake interrupted her by slapping his hand on the table. "What are you even doing in here? You should be resting."

"I'm fine," she protested.

"Yuffie," he said, and more firmly, "Yuffie. Seriously. You're falling to pieces."

"Now you, Shake?"

He scowled. "No offense, your highness, but I can see from looking at you that a piece of your ear's missing. Having fun growing that back?"

Her hand flew reflexively to the shell of the ear that had been nicked by the knife last night. It was still tender, and after her shower, it had become puffy and swollen. "It's not as bad as it looks."

He crossed his arms, sending her a stern look. "I can't imagine how the rest of you looks. Gorki, keep those papers. One of yours can handle it."

Seeing that she was not going to convince them, she rose and said coldly, "Meeting adjourned."

Dinner was odd. It seemed like the quiet nights from before their falling out, when Yuffie had grown somewhat comfortable in Tseng's presence, had even looked forward to their alone time and taken some amount of solace in it. Still, she felt some lingering awkwardness and was surprised when he looked up from the thick book he was poring over and said without warning, "They're out of line, but they care about you."

"Reading at the table is really rude, you know." She jabbed a chopstick toward his book.

"So is pointing with chopsticks." He closed the tome and set it to the side of the deep red cushion he kneeled on. "And they're right. You should rest."

She wanted to say, _And since when are you in a position to tell me what I should do? _Something made her hold her tongue, though. Maybe she had gotten better control of her mouth. Or maybe she was just tired of fighting with him.

Before she could formulate a suitable response, however, he spoke again. "How does your ear feel?"

"Okay, I guess," she shrugged. She itched to do get up and do something interesting. Training with Chekhov was off for tonight, to better allow for her recovery, and Shake refused to spar with her. She didn't bother asking Tseng. She knew him well enough by now to predict his disapproval.

"Perhaps it should have had stitches." He frowned, squinting at it.

"It's just a little tender right now," she insisted.

"And your strength? Do you feel it's returning?"

Now that he mentioned it, she'd noticed some residual fatigue, but she didn't want to tell anyone for fear they'd coddle her further. Truth be told, she suspected her exhaustion the previous night had been two parts assassin-chasing and one part Leviathan. Running with all senses on a god's version of high alert had most likely taxed her beyond her usual physical and spiritual means.

"I'm kinda tired, but that's not abnormal. Probably gonna hit the hay early tonight."

"You'll excuse me if I stay awake for paperwork."

"Nope. You're not excused."

Tseng blinked, staring at her like he didn't understand.

She pasted on her most serious face. "You have to stay and watch me sleep. Hours of entertainment."

A small smile tugged at his mouth. "I see. I will just have to suffer the glory of your visage until you fall asleep, then slip away."

"Tseng," she mock-gasped, holding a hand to her heart, "_you_ would do that to _me_?"

"Never," he said, then put another bite of kalamari in his mouth, chewing with care. Yuffie had noticed he enjoyed each meal as if it were his last and supposed it was a direct result of his childhood and life in the Turks.

She laid awake for a while after Tseng turned out the lights and shut the door, unable to fall asleep after waking in the late afternoon. Thoughts turned over and over in her head—the fragment of a tattoo, the bomb, the assassin. Yuffie wondered what could be happening around her that she just could not seem to put the pieces together. The woman who held the gun to her head and the man in black—were they working together? Who had planted the bomb? Why was Shiga at the auction?

After half an hour of chasing her own tail, tossing and turning and pulling up the sheets on the bed, she decided she'd just take her concerns to Tseng and see what he said. Throwing on a couple of robes, she told the guards she was off to visit the Emperor in his office.

She'd made it a little over halfway there when everything went wrong.

Looking back later, Yuffie would be unable to recall what alerted her to the presence of intruders. Perhaps it was a small sound, some creak of the floors which could not be attributed to the palace settling. Perhaps it was the unnamable instinct for danger which had kept her alive thus far. Whatever it was, she hesitated mid-step and did a one-eighty.

Yuffie ducked. A split second later, and she would've been laid out—a fist swung through the space her head had just occupied. She aimed a quick jab at the assailant's unguarded solar plexus, then took two steps backward to avoid the second person—a woman, Yuffie registered as the black-clad figure lurched forward and tried to grapple with her.

If she didn't take control of the situation, one of her attackers would grab her. And she was sure they wanted to take her, not kill. The man had a curved dagger sheathed at his waist, and the woman had a sword strapped to her back. They had made no moves to use deadly force, and she suspected they would not.

The man had time to recover in the few seconds the woman had distracted her, so Yuffie made a split-second decision and pushed, slamming her attacker into the wall. She wrenched her hand from the woman's slackening grip and punched on the right cheekbone, temporarily putting her out of commission. In that moment, the other attacker wrapped his arms around her from behind and pulled her off the woman.

Yuffie took a deep breath to scream. If she yelled, she might alert more of these people to her presence, but she was running out of options. She just hoped someone would hear her. Before she could let loose with a shout to bring down the palace, though, the man clapped a heavy hand over her mouth and nose, squeezing. She struggled, but he was nearly twice her size, and her vision quickly blackened at the edges.

On the precipice of unconsciousness, the man released her. She slipped to her hands and knees, gasping for breath. She wasn't sure who had helped her, and she couldn't be bothered investigating as she gulped sweet oxygen into her starving lungs. When she had regained her wits, she registered the hand in front of her face.

She took it and found herself hauled to her feet. When she stood, she was face to face with Tseng.

"Uh, thanks," she said, still a bit out of breath. He was very close to her, his eyes dark and concerned. His hands skimmed over her, checking for injuries.

"Are you all right?"

She was too flustered at him touching her to answer. She was saved when the woman slumped against the wall stirred, groaning softly.

"You have to come with me now," he said. He tipped her chin up with one hand, turned her head this way and that to examine the marks on her face from the man's hand.

"What? What is it?"

"We're been infiltrated. Let's go," he threw over his shoulder as he took off, obviously expecting her to follow.

"By who?"

Without warning, he skidded to a stop, and she collided with his back. He just barely wrapped his body around her in time to roll them out of the way of the three throwing stars that struck the wall. Yuffie had half a second to register their new position on the floor before Tseng swept to his feet and whipped out two handguns.

Without hesitation, he fired a few rounds into the darkened hallway. They weren't very far from the first attackers, and she wondered if more would come from that direction. She threw anxious looks over her shoulder while she tried to pay attention to action unfolding before her.

"Go back," Tseng snarled, pushing her that way with his body. She scrambled to move, tripping a couple of times in her haste, and took off in the opposite direction. Tseng followed behind her, and she couldn't tell if they were being tailed by the attacker.

Her uncertainty dissolved when Tseng hissed in pain.

"You okay?" she asked, alarmed. He urged her onward, pushing at her shoulders.

"Go!"

She and Tseng were about to reach a widening of the corridor and a series of guest sleeping quarters. She knew of an exit a few short halls away. The question was whether they could make it that far.

"I'm passing a law against assassins," Yuffie huffed.

"Already have one."

"Damn."

Events went sour when they turned the corner and found themselves in a widening hallway. A figure stood haloed in the bright lights. In the half-second she paused to squint, the figure raised its arm. A deafening _crack _sounded.

She whirled at a choked sound behind her. Tseng clutched his chest. A flower of red bloomed beneath his hand, and he fell to his knees. When he sucked in a breath, it sounded wet and broken.

"No," she breathed, feeling as though someone had punched her in the gut. _Tseng can't die,_ she thought stupidly. _Tseng's invincible._

She didn't have time to dwell on him. The shooter behind her was first priority. As she put her back to the wall, she fished in the inner pockets of her hastily donned kimono, congratulating herself on disorganization as she found two shuriken and a half-mastered fire materia.

The assassin following them rounded the corner and loosed a few shuriken. Yuffie cast a fire spell in that direction. A quick burst of satisfaction shot through her at the resulting shriek. She turned, prepared for a repeat performance with the shooter. Instead, Yuffie crumpled at a blow to her head with the blunt end of the gun. She grunted as she smacked the floor, and the edges of her vision darkened. Her gaze lit on Tseng, still and white-faced a few feet away.

With the last of her willpower, head pounding and ears ringing, Yuffie pulled herself toward him, one hand feeling for his ruined chest. His blood soaked her hand much too quickly. She gasped and felt almost as if she had been shot in the chest herself. It hurt to breathe.

_Please_, she thought. The word played in her head like a chant. Yuffie felt something electric inside her surge outward through her fingertips and transfer to him with a _snap_.

Footsteps approached. A socked-and-sandaled foot settled next to her outstretched arm. Before she could follow it up to the owner's face, she blacked out.


	18. Chapter 18

Yuffie awakened in an unfamiliar place. Her first registered thought was, _Ow._ Pain thundered through her skull, concentrated somewhere in the back of her head and spreading to her neck and shoulders. When she tried to sit up, a wave of dizziness overtook her, and she fell backward again. Nausea came next. She breathed deeply for a few moments, eyes squeezed shut. The light was not very bright, but it lanced through her injured skull all the same.

It took a few moments to regain her wits, but eventually she achieved the perfect speed in sitting up and managed to get a grip on the pain. Through narrowed eyes, she observed her surroundings.

The room was a decent size, maybe twenty-five square feet, done up in pleasant shades of dark reds and muted golds—reminiscent of Wutai's fascination with those colors. One soft lamp occupied the far right corner, and Yuffie tried not to look directly at it. Carpet covered the floor, rugs strewn about strategically to give the place a softer feel. There were two doors, one directly across from her bed and one in the right wall. Curiously, the place had no windows, and she thought, judging by the damp feel of the air, that they might be somewhere underground.

Yuffie wondered when she had gone from being knocked out on the palace floor to living in the lap of luxury. She swung her feet cautiously onto the carpet and paused, puzzled. Her shoes had been changed; in fact, her whole outfit was different. Someone had taken her out of her blood-stiffened clothes and given her soft slippers instead of sandals. She frowned.

What next? The fire materia and any throwing stars secreted on her body seemed to be gone. Whoever had changed her clothes had apparently disarmed her in the process. She thought about stirring up some noise, seeing if anyone would come to check on her. Knock on the door, yell a little, observe the results. Or should she use this valuable time to look for escape routes in the event of an opportunity? Surely there were some ventilation shafts around here, and she was still small and limber enough to wiggle out. _And what if I have to pee?_

Before she could move any farther than the bed, the door opened.

A woman who appeared to be in her early- to mid-50s slid through the gap in the door, closing it behind her. It shut with a muffled metallic thud. Yuffie saw as the door swung open and closed that there were two deadbolts. She didn't get much of a glimpse of the hall or any idea of how well-guarded she was.

As for the woman, she was definitely of Wuteng descent. If the magnificent pile of dark hair on her head was not enough of a clue, the tilted black eyes gave it away. She smiled in the moment of silence, and Yuffie was struck by her beauty. "How are you feeling?" she asked with a deep, soothing voice.

Yuffie chose not to answer that question as the woman pulled a flashlight from the front of her robes and clicked it on. "We don't have any money, if that's what you're looking for," Yuffie finally said.

"May I check to ensure that knock on the head didn't concuss you, Empress?" she asked. She approached slowly, and Yuffie didn't respond. She allowed the woman to shine the light in both her eyes and followed the quiet instructions as her finger traveled through the air.

"Okay," she said after a moment, sounding pleased, "it seems you're not concussed. Just don't go running any marathons."

Apparently finished with her medical agenda, the woman sat in a rolling chair opposite Yuffie's bed and crossed her legs. She wore a dark, heavy coat over a smart kimono which was cut short, influenced by the Eastern business style. A small pair of glasses with silver rims perched on the end of her nose.

Yuffie grew impatient in the silence. "Where am I? Who are you?" This woman could play doctor all she liked, but Yuffie was still a prisoner taken from her own home.

Her captor said, "My name is Lin. It's an honor to meet you officially, your highness."

"Uh, sure," Yuffie said slowly. This lush room and warm welcome weren't exactly what she had expected. The whole thing reeked, and she knew Tseng would agree with her.

The thought of Tseng abruptly brought the image of him into her head. His glazed eyes and white face threatened to suffocate her, and she clamped down on the thoughts of him before her feelings could show through. Keeping a straight face until she knew more would be important. Not even a blink out of place. Yuffie was an excellent liar, especially when it came to her feelings.

_He's not dead_, was the lie she told herself now, even as an insidious sliver of fear worked into her heart.

"How do you like your arrangements? Are you comfortable?" Lin was saying.

"The place is…nice," she replied. "No windows, though. It's like being in a cave."

Lin didn't make any move to confirm or deny Yuffie's suspicions about the windows, merely stared back at her with an unperturbed expression. She had the same type of impassive look that had so often stumped Yuffie with Tseng, but her experience with the expression told her Lin was hiding something.

Lin's lack of response put the final nail in the coffin. Yuffie was almost positive they were underground now, and she wondered where they could be with such opulent furnishings. Had Lin and whoever she worked with constructed this place, or had they purchased it in its current state?

"Whoever decorated did a great job," she said, turning her head this way and that, trying to look appreciative.

Lin smiled. "Thank you. I designed and furnished this room."

Clue number one: the room had existed in some previous state before it looked this way. Lin or whoever else had purchased it.

"Where's that door go?" Yuffie nodded toward the second door, opposite the one Lin had come through.

The relative ease of Lin's reply made Yuffie think it was probably the truth. "A room much like this one."

"Anyone in there?"

Instead of acknowledging this question, Lin redirected the conversation. "Are you feeling up for a short chat, your highness?"

"That depends. You planning on letting me go anytime soon?"

Yuffie didn't have high hopes for this outcome, but it was worth assessing every possible option. This woman had to know already that she didn't plan to stay if the opportunity to escape presented itself. Perhaps she would save them all the trouble and let Yuffie go.

Lin laughed with genuine amusement. "I'm fond of you, Empress."

"You… are?" she asked, baffled at this new turn in their discussion.

"Yes, which is why I've been sorry to see you take the throne."

Yuffie frowned. "Maybe it's that knock on the noggin I got, but I'm not following."

Lin smoothed her already perfectly pressed skirt, uncrossed her legs, recrossed them. She folded her hands over her knee. Her nails were trimmed and lacquered with dark red polish. "It's a shame, to me, your lack of choice in the matter of ruling. I've watched your free spirit be shackled by a country in need of such repairs as Wutai."

"I wouldn't say _shackled_," Yuffie started, but Lin held up a hand.

"Let's call a spade a spade. You didn't want the throne, but you took it out of a sense of duty which I highly respect."

Yuffie blinked, genuinely dumbfounded. So far, this entire experience had bordered on surreal. Of all the strange situations in which she had found herself in her short twenty-five years, this was gunning for top spot.

"Well, I don't think anyone really _wants_ to rule," she replied.

A placid smile was her reply. "Oh, but there's where you're wrong. I do."

Yuffie's eyebrows shot up. "It's not as easy as all that, sister. I know I make it look like a breeze, but—"

"Wouldn't it be more appropriate for someone with a genuine desire to rule to hold position of leader in Wutai?" Lin asked.

"Maybe, but… that's just not how it works."

"You're speaking of your gods," Lin said calmly, and Yuffie's stomach fled somewhere to her toes. Did this woman know about Leviathan? How? Her fears were put to rest as Lin continued. "Come now, you know better than most the danger of so-called gods."

She was talking about Sephiroth, Yuffie realized, not Leviathan. Still, she wondered if Lin had somehow discovered her secret.

"You may not believe in the gods, Lin, but the rest of Wutai does, and the Kisaragis were chosen in their minds even if they weren't in yours." Not quite the truth, but not quite a lie either.

Lin tilted her head. "But why does it have to be that way? Who better than ourselves, two women beaten down by the system, to throw off the chains of religious dogma and take the first step into a bright new future?"

_Oh, no. Not even ten minutes into our first talk and I'm seeing some fanatical fervor_, Yuffie thought. Aloud, she said, "Oh, yeah? And who'll take the throne if I don't? Someone who'll run Wutai into the ground within a year trying to line their own pockets? Is there some guy out there I don't know about who has a fetish for near-death on a regular basis?"

"I already told you. I would take the throne," Lin said with the utmost confidence.

"No offense, lady, but we haven't even got to the interview and I already know I don't want you to have the job."

"My name is Lin, not lady. And what do you mean my methods? Are you not well provided for?" she asked, sweeping an elegant arm about their surroundings.

Yuffie stared, incredulous. "You kidnapped me _and_ you shot my husband. Not to mention breaking and entering."

Lin seemed amused. "Your husband? You need not pretend the marriage is anything but a political sham, at best."

"And what do you think you know about me or my marriage, exactly?"

"Your grace, we at Wave know more about you than anyone else in the world, even Tifa Lockhart. Even your … fastidious Turk."

_They can't know more than Tseng,_ she thought. _He has an entire file_.

"It's my birthright. More importantly, it's my duty."

"You speak of duty when Wutai needs passion, a desire for change."

"You must think this job is easy or something," Yuffie said with forced calm. She was starting to understand that no matter how hard you worked, no matter how much you changed and how many people you helped, there would always be someone who thought they could do better.

"No one can deny you have made great changes in just this short period, Empress."

"But?"

"I have studied politics for many long years, have dedicated much time and energy to learning how to heal this country's wounds. I believe it is time to let the people speak."

"The people meaning _you_, then?" Yuffie asked, tired and annoyed at the same time.

Lin rose from her chair, the soft light glinting off her spectacles. "You have three days to decide," she said. "I advise in this time you think about whether or not you even want to rule."

"And what happens if I just take you down and make my way out right now?"

She looked down her nose. Yuffie was reminded forcefully of Tseng. "You will not find escape that easy."

.

Tseng's eyes cracked open, then immediately shut again. He let his eyes adjust for a few moments, then opened them. His skin felt damp and clammy, his pulse running fast.

"Awake, I see," said a low voice, and he tried to roll, reach for some kind of weapon—his gun or failing that, some sort of blunt object. His chest screamed with pain, and a wave of dizziness smacked him.

"If you don't sit still, you're going to reopen your wound."

Tseng recognized the cadence and tone, and when he mustered the power to look again, his suspicions were confirmed. "Shake," he rasped. "How—"

"I found you lying in your own blood. Thought you were dead 'til I saw you breathing."

Tseng recalled the bullet through his lung and the peculiar sensation of liquid bubbling in his throat; Yuffie's stricken face, her hand reaching and connecting. Some foreign but familiar energy flowing into the wound and taking away the pain. _I _was_ dead,_ he thought.

Inwardly, he cursed himself. She'd saved his life, and he'd failed her. Again.

"And the Mighty Gods?"

Shake looked away, his eyes shadowed. "Whoever they are, they've taken the palace, and they're holding Staniv, Gorki, and Chekhov hostage."

"How did you escape?"

"I'm too fast. They caught us on the path from the Pagoda to the palace, but I slipped away into the forest and made a roundabout trip back here. I don't know how, but I think they had people planted inside the palace—I had to dodge a couple of the maids carrying knives." He grimaced.

Silence reigned for a few moments as a dangerous cocktail of thoughts and feelings percolated in Tseng's head. He was angry, angry at the palace guard for failing to protect their Empress. At the Mighty Gods for getting caught. At himself for not noticing the infiltration sooner.

He was broken from the familiar cycle of self-loathing when Shake spoke again. "How long before you think you can walk?"

"A while," Tseng admitted, feeling the wound throb. He wanted a better look at it, but not with Shake watching. Instead, he contented himself with studying their surroundings. "Where are we?"

The ceiling above them looked strange. In the lack of light, Tseng took a moment to realize it was actually the slats of a wood floor, through which a faint gray light filtered. Judging by the feel of the makeshift bed beneath him, Tseng thought the square shadows piled around the room were probably some sort of storage crates. Not very comfortable.

"Now that you're awake, you can drink this." Shake held up a slightly luminous potion, pulled from an inner pocket of his shirt. Their eyes met with distaste when they came to the mutual conclusion that Tseng would not be able to drink without assistance. Shake moved closer, uncorked the faintly-glowing bottle, and held it to Tseng's lips. His expression was careful neutrality. Tseng slugged it as best he could from his position, noticing as it went down that it was still warm from Shake's body heat.

As he wiped his mouth, Shake said, "We're in one of Yuffie's hidey-holes." From somewhere, he procured a small flashlight and clicked it on, swinging it in an arc. Tseng saw several small black cases and a couple of well-worn shurikens.

"She held on to Twin Viper," Shake said, almost to himself. "Double materia growth."

"I didn't know this place existed."

Shake turned the flashlight off and seated himself on a stack of crates on the other side of the room. "You don't know a lot of things."

Tseng successfully repressed the eyeroll, choosing instead to direct his energies toward healing. The sooner he could get out of the jealous younger man's presence, the better.

"Don't you care what's happened to her?" Shake snapped suddenly.

Truthfully, the dominant thought circling Tseng's mind was the image of Yuffie's frightened, shocked face. He wasn't about to play to Shake's expectations, though, so he said, "When can we leave here?"

"Whoever took her has the palace on lockdown."

Tseng let his eyes slip closed. He wanted badly to sleep.

He heard the crates creak as Shake shifted. "Do you have any idea who they are?"

Even from several feet away and in the mostly-dark, Tseng could feel tension and accusation radiating from Shake. If not for Tseng's gunshot wound, he would probably already be formulating a million ways the Turk was behind the entire coup.

Tseng thought that sometimes his reputation could be a hindrance.

A few moments of silence ticked by, with Shake tapping one foot in aggravation, then, "So what do we do?"

"Unless you plan to escape alone or try to drag me along now as deadweight, we'll have to wait until I'm healed."

"Good thing Yuffie's such a hoarder," Shake said, producing a case which he flipped open, revealing the precious contents. Four vials of hi-potion cast a dull green glow into the shadows. "Supposed to give these to you every four hours." After a moment of assessing Tseng with his gaze, he said, "Let's speed things along."

The next ten hours turned into a haze of potion-induced high for Tseng. Once, he was aware of waking up and registering that, in order to wake up, he must have fallen asleep, but he was so soon asleep again that it was the only observation he was able to make. Shake re-administered the potion twice, pausing each time to peel back Tseng's kimono and probe the wound.

"Looks like it's healing all right. Does this hurt?"

Tseng hissed through his teeth and struggled not to arch his back.

"Yeah, this is a little inflamed."

If his limbs hadn't been like rubber, he would've knocked Shake's hands away, but the effects of so many potions in such a short amount of time had set in a few hours ago; he could do nothing but lie there, practically lifeless, and sweat.

"You're glowing," Shake observed at one point. "Just a little. Must be the discharge."

Tseng couldn't move.

"Looks like," Shake said, picking up one of Tseng's arms and letting it flop down again, "you've got potion poisoning. Paralysis. I hope you don't develop a fever."

_Enjoying yourself?_ Tseng thought, unable to articulate the thought with his numb mouth. He'd had some dental work before in which he had received a shot that disabled one side of his mouth. He remembered it now as his entire body felt something like that. Potion poisoning—caused by using too many hi-potions in a short time-span—could cause fever, temporary paralysis, and vomiting. It wasn't always deadly, but sometimes people choked on their own vomit while paralyzed.

He could've erred on the side of caution and taken a smaller dosage, but he needed to get well quickly if he were to find Yuffie. He was pretty sure the bullet had punctured his lung. Whatever power she had used to heal him had done most of the work in yanking him back from the threshold of death, but he was in no shape to do the work necessary to get out of the palace.

After a grueling seven—by his glowing watch-face—hours slipping in and out of consciousness, he felt Shake's hand on his shoulder, jostling him awake. "Hey. We need to go."

Tseng grunted and fended Shake off. With surprising energy, he levered himself into a sitting position. His wound twinged somewhat, but it was a manageable level of pain. A sticky blanket of sweat, dirt, and blood coated his body, and his hair was a rat's nest that no amount of finger-combing seemed to help.

"You look awesome, don't worry about it," Shake assured him. He was very good at sounding like he wasn't mocking someone.

"Be quiet," Tseng shot back, weary of the younger man.

Shake scowled. "Do you think you can walk now?"

Tseng flexed one arm, performing a few shoulder rolls, then repeated the action on the other side. There was some tightness in his chest muscles, but he would be able to manage with some time and warming up.

Shake was rifling through one of the packing crates he had apparently opened while Tseng convalesced. "Any idea how we can get out unnoticed?"

His stomach growled, and he licked his parched lips. Shake made a triumphant noise, then handed him several bags of vending machine food—potato chips, powdered donuts, crackers. Tseng tore open the package of peanut butter crackers and wolfed down three, only slowing on the fourth.

He pocketed some candy bars for later and ate a package of cookies, grimacing at all the sugar. Between helpings Shake had discovered another box with bottles of water.

Shake turned up his wrist and fiddled with something. The faint green glow of a watch cast strange shadows across his face. "Almost three a.m."

Before he barged into the castle with bare hands blazing, Tseng decided it wouldn't hurt to take a look around at Yuffie's stash. In the first two cases, he and Shake discovered medical supplies. In the third, changes of clothes. Skimpy clothes. He wondered if Yuffie's flair for tiny shorts served any sort of battle advantage. Distraction, perhaps?

"Jackpot," Shake said, removing throwing stars from the fourth case. Their edges were expertly-sharpened, and when Shake ran a thumb over one, it sliced through his flesh as easily as an airship through a cloud. Shake wiped his thumb on his shirt as Tseng opened the next two cases.

Which were almost overflowing with materia, they were so full.

Shake gave a low sigh. "I bet she stole half of this from me."

Tseng ignored him, palming each of the tiny orbs to get a feel for what they were. By the tingle of magic in his fingertips, he could gauge that at least one of them was a mastered fire, one was a mastered blizzard, and one was an All materia.

She had several summons, one of which he was sure was Shiva, and another which felt like a level one Choco-Mog. Most of the materia were level one, to his disappointment, but she had been smart enough to pack a variety.

"She thinks ahead sometimes," Shake said over his shoulder.

He was getting tired of being told about his wife like he didn't know her. If a voice in his head whispered that maybe he didn't know her, he ignored it.

The problem would be finding something with which to equip the materia. Tseng didn't generally carry the stuff, as he had never had a real affinity for magic, much preferring machinery and metal in his hands. He had no bracelets or belts with slots. He resolved to be better prepared for emergency materia usage in future.

Shake plucked a few of the orbs from the case and slotted them into a cuff on his right arm. Tseng eyed one of the shuriken in the far corner and, making the decision, grabbed the one Shake had called Twin Viper. He fitted the mastered Fire, the mastered Shiva, and the All materia.

"This is the best we're gonna get, I think." Shake slipped a few potions into his robes, and Tseng followed suit.

The only item Yuffie didn't have that Tseng needed were handguns. Small arms and tactics were his specialty, where Yuffie preferred distractions, acrobatics, and tricky projectiles. He would have to fight with her elements in order to find her.

"You ready? Let's go," Shake said, as if Tseng needed any prompting.

Shake reached toward the ceiling, groping for something in the dark, then made a pulling motion. A trapdoor swung down on well-oiled hinges, and a rope ladder came with it, hitting the floor with a light _swish_.

Tseng mounted the ladder before Shake could, doing his best to climb without noise. When he poked his head over the lip of the door, the angular shadows of boxes and the silhouettes of brooms and mops greeted him. They seemed to be in a cleaning supply closet. He looked down and motioned for Shake to follow him up.

_Yuffie is surprisingly thorough,_ Tseng thought, pleased with the location of her hidey-hole. He wasn't sure what they had taught her in ninja school, but he had a feeling this was her own creativity at work.

"How did she install this?" he murmured to Shake, who was closing the trapdoor and sliding a flap of carpet over the top of it. When he was finished, there didn't appear to be anything amiss with the floor upon first, or even second, glance.

"I helped her," Shake replied. "When Yuffie's been picking pockets, bribing a builder is easy."

"Her father didn't notice?"

"He didn't pay much attention in those days." A hint of something like bitterness had crept into Shake's voice, and Tseng decided to let the matter drop. He'd ask Yuffie about it later.

He thought for the thousandth time that he had to find her. Later. There would be a later. There had to be a later.

Tseng held up three fingers and folded them down one by one, counting. At zero, he turned the doorknob and peered into the hallway, ready for attack. He recognized the office wing, and triumph squeezed his stomach, just briefly. He had two extra guns stored in his desk.

"Follow me," he said in the barest whisper, and Shake padded along behind him. Remaining quiet in the royal attire of socks-plus-geta had grated on Tseng's nerves from day one, but now it had become a legitimate hindrance. He would have to shed the shoes sooner rather than later.

The door to his office, around another deserted corridor, was locked. He pulled the key from his breast pocket and slotted it into the lock, opening it with a quiet _snick_. Shake slipped in behind him and shut the door.

Tseng made quick work of the desk. Underneath, where he would stretch his legs while sitting in the rolling chair, there was a compartment. Unhooking a couple of inconspicuous latches allowed the compartment's small door to swing open, and he maneuvered the case with his two handguns out of it. He had only one clip for each of the guns, as they were for emergencies only. He would have to conserve the ammo.

"Impressive," Shake said, scowling. "Can we get a move on? Being here this long makes me antsy."

He swept one last look around the room, his eyes lingering on the innocuous space on the floor where he had found the scattered pages of the file. He shut the door.

A few feet into the hallway, voices drifted around the corner. "—checked this wing recently?"

"No. Not since the initial search."

"Command said the Empress' dog is still on the loose. We should take a look around."

Tseng lurched backward, forcing Shake to backpedal into the office, then closed the door. He hoped the guards, or whatever these insurgents called themselves, hadn't seen them. He hoped the small click of the door settling back into place wouldn't draw their attention. Turning to meet Shake's eyes, he placed a finger to his lips.

Once the voices had passed them and Tseng judged a decent amount of time had passed, they entered the hallway again. Two minutes passed with no incident. Then, to their great misfortune, they rounded the corner and almost smacked into someone.


	19. Chapter 19

Yuffie tried to meditate. If she pretended hard enough, the room's one soft lamp could almost be the Pagoda with its wall sconces. Except no Chekhov to box her around the ears when her thoughts wandered. She needed to contact Leviathan. If she could access some of his power, then she could perhaps escape from… wherever she was.

In the darkness of her own mind, she pushed her feet up the slope of a great, craggy cliff. A ferocious wind whipped around her, thickening the air with the smell of saltwater. Though she could not see it over the precipice rising before her, she knew the cold sea thrashed at the bottom. Each step forward was a battle, and at times she wanted to fall to her hands and knees and crawl over the pitted ground. These were Wutai's northern shores in the dead of winter, the wind jabbing into every nook and cranny, beating the rock into submission.

Yuffie reached the edge of the cliff and planted her feet. She knew the rocks here could be loose and anchored by nothing more than a bit of sand and water, but she braced herself. The wind battered her, and at times her body swayed as if urging her toward the water below.

There was nowhere to go but down. She dangled one foot into open air.

Suddenly, she wasn't on the cliff. Her cheek scraped carpet, and Tseng bled out in front of her. His face whitened as the light faded from his eyes. She pulled hand over hand across the ground, ripping fibers from the rug in her haste to reach him. She was a foot away, an inch.

Her eyes snapped open, and she gasped like emerging from a deep lake.

Once Yuffie had regained her breath, she uncrossed her legs from their lotus position on the bed and brought her knees to her face, breathing deeply. Three times now she had been a hair's breadth from accessing her god's power. Each time had shifted into a blow-by-blow replay of Tseng's death which destroyed her concentration and catapulted her from meditation.

She sent another fervent prayer skyward and to somewhere in the vicinity of her belly. _Please, let him be alive._ This thought chased itself in circles in her mind, until she couldn't take it anymore and seized a pillow with a delicate gold fringe.

The pillow hit the door with a soft thud just as it opened. Lin's face appeared in the gap. She said with some amusement, "Good morning."

Something about Lin made Yuffie uneasy, as if her huge dark eyes could read her every thought and feeling with ease. Despite this, Yuffie met her eyes and determined she would not look away. "When can I go to the bathroom?"

"Now, if you like. It is not our intention to torture your bladder, your highness."

"So you're going to torture me some other way?"

"I'll walk you myself if you cooperate. I'd rather not have to call the guards." Lin opened the door behind her, gesturing into the hallway. Now Yuffie could see the shoulders of men standing on either side of the frame. Until now, Lin had been deftly sidestepping the subject of Yuffie's imprisonment by way of a well-furnished room and mostly hospitable treatment.

She slipped off the bed and noted the way Lin kept a definite distance between them, not impolite, but a consistent four feet. Yuffie was careful not to make any sudden moves. She needed this time to gather any information she could about her surroundings.

The hall extended a couple hundred feet. Generic, stain-hiding carpet covered the floor, and the walls were painted an off-white—not nearly as lush as the room to which Yuffie was confined. The square plaster tiles above her head gave her no hint as to where they might be located, but there were two separate male/female bathrooms at the end of the hall. Yuffie thought they might be in a wing of offices somewhere. Only bureaucracy could look this boring.

The restroom was small, neat and done mostly in beige with bamboo accents. There didn't seem to be any way out except an air duct, but now might not be the best time to pry out the screws and clamor around in the ventilation system. An option for later, maybe.

When she had returned to her room, it was clear Lin had no immediate plans to leave her in peace. She sat in one of the cushy chairs. Initially, Yuffie moved to sit on the bed, but the thought made her pause. Something about sitting on the bed while Lin observed from a chair made her feel less-than. She crossed the small living space and took the chair opposite the older woman, sinking into its padded depths.

"I feel, my Empress, that we have some of the same goals. I too wish for positive change in Wutai."

Yuffie tried not to laugh, for fear it would sound too much like mocking. "You must think this job is easy or something. What do you think I've been trying to do for the last six months?"

Lin shook her head. "You misunderstand me. While reviving the economy has been a mostly successful effort on your part, something I feel will continue now that you have kickstarted the process, I'm principally concerned with…choice."

"Choice?" Yuffie asked, trying not to look as suspicious as she felt at this new turn in their dialogue.

"Would you allow me to tell you a little about myself? I believe it will illuminate my meaning." Lin crossed her long, elegant legs and pulled her braid over her shoulder, smoothing it. Yuffie thought she might be nervous. The faraway look in her eye spoke of another time.

"Uh, sure," she said, hoping this wouldn't be disturbing—or worse, boring. She'd had enough of being bored in captivity already.

"My mother was a prostitute."

_Well, _Yuffie thought, _this took a turn I didn't expect._

At seeing her surprise, Lin smiled. Her lips were red against her white teeth. The expression seemed pleasant enough, but Yuffie had the feeling not for the first time that something more dangerous lurked beneath Lin's pleasant, cultured demeanor. An image of Rufus Shinra appeared in her mind's eye. Lin's smile was no so different than his.

"I had a twin, and her name was Rei. I hope you understand I don't mean it as a boast when I say I've been told my whole life how beautiful I am. I mean it to impress upon you that my sister was twice as beautiful as me, and a kinder soul you would never meet." Lin removed her small silver spectacles and polished them on the edge of her coat, her casual gesture at odds with her next statement. "Because our mother was a prostitute, Rei and I were as well. We were trained in the arts of pleasing men from the age of seven."

Yuffie swallowed the bile rising in her throat. _Seven years old?_ She had known about brothels like that. Illegal and underage prostitution had been a rising problem, especially as the kitschier aspects of the tourist industry failed to supplement Wutai's bleeding economy. Wutai could be beautiful and historical, but it could also be dark and troubled.

"Knowing this, perhaps you can see what I mean when I say I believe in the importance of choice. Everyone has a right to choice, Empress, a right I and others like me have been denied in this country.

"I am no longer consigned to that fate, but it took a long time and much work to become the whole person you see in front of you today. Healing was a long and arduous journey. And not all are as lucky as me."

The question fell out of Yuffie's mouth almost before she registered her desire to know the answer. "Was your sister lucky?" She was known for many things. Tact was not one of those things.

A flash of… something flitted across Lin's face. A tightening of the eyes, a slight twitch of the mouth. It was gone before Yuffie could decipher it, and Lin was rising from her chair.

"Your highness, I must take my leave for the moment. In the meantime, I urge you to think about what I've said. We'll talk more later."

Before Yuffie could form a protest, she was left alone to the soft lamp, the lush room, and her churning thoughts.

...

Wasting no time, Tseng snapped off a low-level fire spell and leapt backward, out of the way of the billowing flames. Shake had already tucked and rolled, astonishingly fast. Something sharp and glinting swept past Tseng's ear. He tossed Yuffie's shuriken.

It had been a few years since he'd actually used one of the weapons; early Turk-training offered training in several martial arts and a variety of weapons, but since then, he hadn't picked up a shuriken. He just didn't have the flair for them that most native Wuteng people did. He had always loved the heft of a gun in his hands.

His job description was such that he had to play games and tricks, and he did not enjoy them any less. But when it came time for the kill, he preferred a clean, straight shot. Pulling the trigger came almost naturally to him.

Smoke obscured his vision, but a cry of pain confirmed Twin Viper striking its target. Tseng rolled forward under two more projectiles and came up onto one knee, transferring to a standing position in one fluid motion. The shuriken would not come back if lodged in another man, so he acted on instinct, bringing his hands together at head-level. His palms clapped hard over someone's ears.

The other man hissed, and Tseng released him as he staggered. Shake darted in and landed three swift jabs—one to the man's groin, another to his solar plexus, and one to the temple. He went down like a sack of rice at Tseng's feet. As the smoke dissipated somewhat, Tseng saw Twin Viper had collided with the guard's partner, lodged three inches deep in his right shoulder.

The unconscious guard wore a set of jet black, standard-issue robes with a small emblem printed on the chest in aquamarine. A stylized version of the Wuteng symbol for "wave." He frowned, hefted the man with one arm, and said to Shake, "Open that door."

Shake looked to the office. The gold flourishes of Staniv's name shone faintly in the lamplight. Tseng motioned for Shake to grab the other guard as he dragged the unconscious assailant into the room.

Dislodging the Twin Viper from the unfortunate man's shoulder was not too difficult. The blades had been kept so sharp, they slipped from his flesh like oil. Tseng could not help but be impressed with Yuffie's diligence.

"Let's go, before someone takes notice," Shake said, closing the door behind them. Tseng doubted anyone would fail to see the scorch mark his fire spell had created or the smear of blood the wounded man had left behind him on the carpet, but they had no other choice but to move.

They managed to make it to Yuffie's roof exit without encountering anyone else. Twice they heard voices and hid in a convenient closet or room. When they finally got to the roof, they crouched, shaded from the rest of the palace and the lawn by an outcropping of the architecture which made it so convenient as Yuffie's favorite spot.

"If we can get over the garden wall and beyond the stables, the forest should cover us," Shake said.

Tseng thought it was probably their best option. He had the grudging thought that Shake might not be completely useless.

They had no choice but to slither over the roof on their stomachs. Sometimes the tiles scraped them awkwardly or the angles of the roof made progress slow. The shuriken further complicated matters as Tseng attempted to move across the roof without drawing attention, its steel threatening to clatter against the ceramic. The half-moon cast shadows over the roof which, luckily, shielded their presence.

When they had reached the low roof over the garden wall, they stopped. There could be guards posted under the eaves, unseen.

In the lowest possible voice, Tseng breathed, "We'll have to try to make a run for the wall."

"All right. Three, two, one... go!" Shake hissed, sliding off the roof to land on the fence a few feet down and taking the impact with a spry bend of his knees.

Before Tseng could follow, he heard a shout.

"Intruder!"

He didn't waste any more time. He heard gunshots and hit the ground running.

Shake was so fast Tseng had difficulty keeping up; the younger man's legs ate up the ground with ease. Tseng wasn't slow, but Shake soon began to outstrip him. As the First Mighty God reached the doors of the stables, another guard in black robes emerged. He hefted a shotgun in his hands and pointed it in Shake's direction.

He would not reach the younger man in time. Before Tseng could think, he had lifted the Twin Viper and summoned Shiva.

Time seemed to slow as the goddess materialized, her skin frosty and glittering in the moonlight. Tseng watched his breath turn to crystals in the air around him. She cast Diamond Dust with a flourish, shattering the man to frozen pieces in the grass. Snow softened the night air as she faded, seeming almost to melt before his eyes.

Shake raced into the stables and burst out a scant few moments later on a magnificent golden chocobo. He galloped toward Tseng, grabbed him by the arm and hauled him into the saddle as the bird ran toward the trees. Struggling to lift Tseng's weight with one arm and steer with the other, Shake fumbled a bit and almost dropped Tseng. The bird careened, and Tseng heard a gunshot.

He reached out for the other materia set into the shuriken, and pulled a level three fire spell. The magic exploded, and the chocobo rocketed forward, spooked. Tseng's feet dragged on the ground, and he thought his arm would tear from its socket.

With one last desperate heave, Shake managed to swing him into the saddle. Despite his position behind Shake, Tseng grabbed the reins and led them on an erratic, zigzagging path until they reached the forest.

The heat behind Tseng told him a fire was burning, and the shouts told him of their struggles to put it out. He hoped it would be enough of a distraction that he and Shake could put some distance between themselves and the palace.

He hoped he hadn't just started a fire that would burn down the entire capital. He cursed himself, and kicked their chocobo in the sides, urging it onward. There was no time to dwell on his decision.

He had to find his wife.

…

A knock sounded at the door, and Yuffie put down the paperback she had been afforded for scant entertainment. It was a detective novel set in Costa del Sol—not really her bag, but captives couldn't be choosy.

"Come in," she called, rolling her eyes at the absurdity of being treated with this level of politeness after they had already knocked her on the head, shot her husband, and demanded she relinquish her throne.

Lin entered carrying a dark wood tray, polished to an impressive shine. On the tray, she balanced the tools of a traditional Wuteng tea. Yuffie_ almost_ picked up the paperback and went back to the detective novel. Surely fiction could not be as absurd as her real life had become. The older woman set the tray on the low table between the two chairs, then gestured for Yuffie to come sit.

"I thought you might like a hot drink."

"Let me guess—you want to chat again." Yuffie perched cross-legged in the chair, aware of how strange she looked. If these people wanted to play house, then she would rebel in the only way she knew how: acting like herself.

Lin did not answer immediately. Instead, she lifted a spoon carved from bamboo and portioned tea leaves into the bowl of steaming water.

"You going to spin me another yarn?" The idea of a hot drink, though she would never admit it, appealed to her. There was a kind of dampness to her cell. Though heat poured from the air duct, the air seemed humid, the walls and floors chilly.

Yuffie watched the steam writhe and dissipate, marveling at Lin's elegant white arms in her trailing sleeves. She didn't spill a drop as she whisked the tea, something Yuffie had never mastered. Chekhov discovered early in Yuffie's life that where some girls had a delicate touch, her young pupil was more like a human wrecking ball.

Lin poured tea into two white china cups. Golden filigree lined the rims, and a small scarlet dragon cavorted along the sides of each. She held the teacup out to Yuffie, who almost slopped scalding tea over her fingers as Lin said, "Your husband is dead."

Mastering her expression, Yuffie brought the cup to her nose and inhaled the fragrant steam. She would not give this woman the satisfaction of seeing her feelings.

She asked as neutrally as possible, "What makes you say that?"

"I watched him die, your highness. He bled out on the carpet."

Yuffie swallowed a sip of tea. It was still too hot, burning her tongue, but it helped loosen the lump forming in her throat. Steam obscured her view of Lin's face for a moment. and Yuffie felt bolstered by the respite from her dark gaze. "How did you get out of the brothel?"

Lin tasted her drink before responding. "I ran away."

"You make it sound easy," Yuffie said, eyebrow up. "Those places don't just give girls up for no reason."

"It wasn't easy." She paused, setting her cup down on the tea tray again. She surprised Yuffie by tucking her legs beneath her. Her look tended toward the Western style today, a deep blue affair with white embroidery. She looked like a sculpture. Even the fine lines around her eyes magnified her elegance, lending her a well-traveled and mysterious air. "Your friends are not coming for you either."

"Well, you sure seem to know a lot." Yuffie shrugged noncommittally. She wasn't stupid. She knew that Lin was trying to mess with her head. The best way to handle it was not to engage her.

"I know your friends aren't coming for you because we have them." Here was the danger in Lin's beauty and relative ease of manner. There she sat with her legs folded under her like a schoolchild, delivering the news that she had captured AVALANCHE as if she were relaying the weather report.

"Is that so?" She shrugged. "So give me the deets, Lin. How'd you escape from the brothel?"

Lin sipped her tea, narrowed her eyes as she stared at some point beyond Yuffie's shoulder. "I killed the man who would have kept me there."

"You killed… who? The owner of the brothel?" Yuffie could not think what else she meant.

Her eyes settled on Yuffie, and the shadow in her gaze sent a shiver down the ninja's spine. "He couldn't have my sister, so he chose me instead." She picked up the teapot. "Would you like some more? It's still hot."

Yuffie nodded, holding out her cup. The situation was not ideal, but she would take what comforts she could get, and tea reminded her of home. "What happened to your sister?"

"Your country is not happy with you, Empress."

Yuffie stiffened with her nose over the rim of the cup. She tried not to let her irritation show. "My approval ratings are higher than anyone else's in the last fifty years."

Lin shrugged. "That means nothing when you consider the Kisaragis have ruled for six times that. You've only managed to repair some of the damage your family has caused."

"Midgar wasn't built in a day, lady. You have to give me more than six months to pull Wutai out of the dump."

"Wouldn't you say your family has had enough time to ruin this country?" Lin's tone was not sharp despite her words. Everything she said came out sounding like complete, inarguable fact.

Yuffie did not know how to answer. She thought it might be more for the people to decide, but that sort of change could only come once she had spent some time mucking about with the legal system and allowing for adjustment periods. Yuffie certainly didn't feel it was Lin's decision to make. "I'm working on a way to give everyone more say in how this country progresses," she said after a long moment.

"You have only two more days to decide, your highness."

"And then what? You kill me?"

Lin tipped her head in a small, slow nod. "If you will not give me the throne yourself, I will take it."

"Here I thought you were all about choice."

"You do have a choice, your highness," said Lin. "You may choose to abdicate to me willingly, or die in your quest to keep it from me."

"So what do I do after I give you the throne? Just tell my entire country I changed my mind after six months? That'll go over well."

"If you agree to cooperate, I guarantee a life of quiet solitude. Only AVALANCHE and I will know where to find you forever after. Doesn't that sound nice? Life on your own terms."

"No. Life on _your_ terms. That's not much of a choice at all." Yuffie set her teacup down hard enough to make the tray rattle.

Lin rose, put her cup on the tray, and lifted it by its handles. "Think carefully."

"What happened to your sister?" Yuffie asked again.

Lin's back was to her now. She stopped but didn't turn around as she said, "The man I killed murdered her."


	20. Chapter 20

Tseng cursed and hit the end-call button a third time. Rufus, Elena, and Rude's mobile phones had gone straight to voicemail. Grimacing, he hit the speed dial for Reno and waited for the answering voicemail. He had come to expect it.

It picked up on ring two.

"Boss!" exclaimed a happy but quiet voice. "I thought for sure you were dead!"

"Thank you for the vote of confidence, Reno," Tseng replied.

"Hey, hey, I'm just being realistic here. You can't count on a corpse."

"The President?"

A beat. "We fucked up, boss. They got him_._"

Tseng sighed, long and deep. Just what he needed. "Reno."

"I know," he hissed, furious.

"The others?"

"They have Elena. Rude's hurt pretty bad_._" His voice cracked a little on the last sentence.

"What happened?"

"Did you hear the announcement?"

Shake had been getting their chocobo saddled up and ready to go. He chose this time to cut in, peering around its yellow chest. "Who are you talking to?"

Tseng turned and put his fingers to his lips, scowling. In his ear, Reno said, "Who was that?"

"That's Shake," Tseng said. "You were saying?"

"You living under a rock, boss? Staniv showed up on TV to tell the world you and the Empress are sick, and they're not sure when you'll recover. Talking to you now, though, you sound pretty healthy."

"I was shot and incapacitated. They're holding the Mighty Gods hostage, and I have no doubt the statement released was a forced one."

"Who are they?"

"I don't know," Tseng admitted. "Their uniforms bear the Wuteng character for 'wave.'"

"I liked my name for 'em better. 'Those bastards.' Has a sort of ring to it."

"What is your position?" Tseng hated having to prompt Reno for information over and over again, but the younger Turk liked to talk in circles. It was a construct of his carefree, please-underestimate-me image, and often it translated to his behavior outside of business.

"I took Rude, and we're hiding out at a second apartment I rent under a fake name. What about you?"

Tseng eyed Shake, who waited impatiently to hear what was happening. "It's complicated. I need you to lie low until I signal you. You have a phone charger?"

"Yeah, and I even have indoor plumbing."

Tseng had become an expert in ignoring Reno over the years. "I'm going to need you to stay posted, possibly for a couple of days. How long can Rude make it?"

"If he lives through the night, he'll stabilize. I think." Reno sounded serious, for once, which meant, Tseng thought, that Rude was fighting a hard battle. Reno didn't really do serious.

"Good luck."

"Let me know what the plan is, chief."

Tseng hung up. This was not looking good. He wondered what the goal was in all this—who were Wave, and what did they want? It couldn't be just for the sake of it, so what did they have to gain?

"What was that about?" Shake asked, waving his hands in front of Tseng's pensive face.

Tseng sighed and braced himself for a long explanation.

…

They had escaped the previous night's conflagration mostly unscathed and set up camp after putting a great deal of distance between themselves and the palace. A copse of trees had shielded them well, though Tseng hadn't slept much. He'd spent most of the night listening to the sounds of creatures rustling in the underbrush, one hand on the Twin Viper.

Tseng's shoulder felt much better, however, and he was thankful they had managed to keep their mount. Shake had informed him was Yuffie's chocobo, Fluffy.

"Fluffy?" he had asked, eyebrow raised. Shake had shrugged and said simply, "Fluffy."

They made haste in putting distance between the camp and themselves by winding through Wutai's abundant, labyrinthine forests. He knew that further to the north or the south, the terrain became grassier, eventually bleeding into mountains and coast; the hills and trees clustering around the capital easier.

Tseng had been the lucky recipient of all Shake's most special attentions throughout the ride, ranging from commentary on his steering, to jealous, intrusive questions about Yuffie, to making implications that Tseng physically abused his wife. For that one, Tseng had cocked an elbow and jammed it into Shake's ribcage. With a satisfying _oof_, Shake had subsided, at least for a short time. The commentary soon started up again, but Tseng ignored it until they were able to stop and make camp in a hillside with a series of small caves.

They hadn't dared make a fire. Instead, they warmed themselves around the dull glow of the fire materia, Tseng manipulating it to let off a bit of low-level heat.

"This sucks," Shake said, turning his hands this way and that in an attempt to warm them.

Tseng studied the younger man in the materia's glow. He was small, with sharp dark eyes. Tseng thought he might look playful at other times, and he had seen Shake easily slide into a grin or a laugh in conversation with others. The arch of his brows and the tilt of his eyes gave him a mischievous air—akin to Reno but with less murderous intent. Tseng knew from observing him that he had a great many friends, no small number of them pretty young women. He supposed they enjoyed his passionate nature and easy humor.

He knew that Shake and Yuffie had grown up together, and that Shake had had feelings for Yuffie since they were teenagers. He also knew that, to all accounts, Yuffie had never returned those feelings. She spent so much of her time away from home, Tseng had originally assumed Shake's crush was more a type of hero worship than any feelings of real substance. The younger man's jealousy, however, said otherwise. Once upon a time, Tseng would have wondered how anyone could like the overly energetic woman after spending so much time in her company.

It felt like a long time ago.

When he pictured her, his thoughts flickered between two images, the first being the way she looked in the dress at the auction house, her body all sinews and power trading him move for move. The second image: her face as he fell into his own blood in the hallway.

Somewhere, she was in need of his help. He couldn't shake the feeling. Whoever these people were, he was going to make sure they paid for wasting his time and stealing his wife.

His wife. He'd rolled the word around in his head for weeks after the wedding. It never seemed to sound right. But now, with her gone and maybe hurt or dead, his mind kept returning to the term.

Shake hissed and jerked his hands back as the fire materia's light intensified. "Whoa, take it back a couple notches."

The chocobo snorted in the background, pawing at the ground, and Tseng eased the unconscious power he had exerted over the orb. He had to admire Yuffie's weapons; the Twin Viper was an excellent conductor for magic.

"Gil for your thoughts?" Shake baited, and Tseng snapped his eyes up to the other man's.

"We need to bed down and move at first light. A couple hours rest will do the bird some good." He set down the Twin Viper and strode toward their mount, preparing to disassemble the creature's gear for the scant few hours remaining in the night.

"I'm not staying here," Shake said, and Tseng barely glanced at him over his shoulder.

He could feel Shake's gaze burning into the back of his skull as he loosened the saddle. "Are you listening? I'm not staying here."

He strode forward and attempted to snatch the reins from Tseng's hands. Tseng was just a tad too strong for him, though, fending Shake off and stepping back. The bird squawked and moved with him as he pulled the bridle.

"I don't think you understand. The chocobo—" He refused to say Fluffy—"needs rest. If we keep up this pace, you'll run him to death, and then we'll be even worse off."

"You don't even care," Shake said in a low voice, brow pinched and mouth turned down. "Yuffie's just an inconvenience to you."

"I suggest you get some rest." Tseng had a lot of practice dealing with unruly subordinates, and ignoring them and moving on was one of his favorite tactics.

"We're wasting time," Shake said. "She could be hurt, or dying, and you want to sleep?" He lunged.

Tseng made to move the chocobo, but Shake was just a hair too fast, managing to get a hold on the reins. Fluffy screeched a bit, and the sound seemed to ricochet from the trees, sharp and alarming.

Since ignoring him wasn't working, Tseng leaned into Shake's face and said in a controlled, firm voice, "Let go."

"Give me the bird," Shake commanded, and it sounded like he had left a slur off the end of the sentence.

"I'll use physical force."

Shake returned his gaze with challenge, and Tseng struggled not to roll his eyes. A tense moment passed, and then another, in which the two men gripped the leather straps without budging. Finally, the Mighty God released the reins and stormed off to his corner of their temporary abode, muttering under his breath.

Tseng settled against the chocobo for an uncomfortable night's sleep, seeing as Shake had taken the saddle blanket.

He awoke what felt like a scant few minutes later and immediately wondered what had disturbed him. He heard the sound of gravel shifting and saw Shake silhouetted in moonlight at the mouth of the cave, facing away from him. He had a bundle in his arms, and Tseng knew at that moment he was leaving with their supplies.

_You idiot,_ Tseng sighed inwardly. He stood, grabbing the Twin Viper as he rose. He would have to take Shake down, reassert his authority. Then, the electric sizzle of magic split the air, and Tseng didn't think. He tackled Shake, sending them rolling down the hillside.

They rolled down the hillside, scattering vending machine cookies and who knew what else in the darkness. Lightning struck where they had passed just a moment ago, making his hair stand on end and sending shards of rock and earth showering over them.

As he rolled to a stop and the world reeled around him, he heard the chocobo shriek with fear, saw it rearing in the mouth of the cave. Small pebbles rained down on him as Fluffy skidded out of the entrance and stopped just before a plume of fire split the air. Tseng heard the unmistakable shouts of discovery then.

Wave had found them.

He careened to his feet, his ribs aching where a sharp rock had jabbed him. Two yards to his right, the moonlight shone on the polished blades of the Twin Viper. He knew they had to act quickly; they were completely exposed in this clearing. From the cave, it had been their vantage point, but now that they had relinquished the element of surprise, it would be their downfall.

He put thumb and forefinger between his lips and released a piercing whistle. The chocobo paused in its half-crazed flight around the other side of the hill. Good breeding and training overrode instinct, and it wheeled around. To his immediate left, Shake struggled to pull himself out of the grass. Tseng swooped in and hauled him up by his collar.

They had no time to lose. Two flaming arrows whiffed by Tseng's head as he only just managed to half-fall out of the way. Fluffy—who Tseng was becoming fond of—galloped up, and Tseng swung onto her back with some difficulty, as the saddle was back in the cave, and they did not have time to retrieve it. He helped pull Shake up behind him, and they were off toward the cover of the trees again, going wide left of their attackers.

"Do not," Tseng growled as they made their second escape, "attempt to leave me again."

"We were _wasting time_—"

"They might have gone on without discovering us had you stayed in the cave until morning. Now we've lost all our supplies as well as our saddle and reins. Do not disobey my orders again."

He and Shake remained in stony silence for the rest of the night.

…

_Any word from Strife or the others?_

Reno's text message took a long few minutes to come back. _Nothing, so far. Staniv came on again to report more of the same. You're sick and can't come out or whatever._

Tseng sighed and snapped his phone closed, frustrated. He wished he knew what to make of all this, who these people were and what they wanted, exactly. Some sort of terrorist group, for sure, but he felt he was missing some crucial piece of the puzzle. He didn't know where it might be, but he was sure he was right on the verge of epiphany.

"How much longer?" Shake interrupted his thoughts.

"I'm not sure."

In combination with Shake, the bareback soreness and the dried blood and sweat in his stiff, days-old clothes were really starting to wear on Tseng's nerves. Normally, he didn't mind roughing it, but with Shake there to provide a vocalized complaint list, Tseng had been grinding his teeth more than usual.

They had ridden at a slow pace through the day, set up camp again when night fell, rested for a few hours, then got moving again. At some point, Tseng was going to have to acquire some new clothes, as the robes he wore were obviously fit for a king, even half-destroyed as they were.

A king—it was strange, thinking of himself in that manner, even after six months of being just that. Tseng had played the loyal servant all his life. To be the king at this point seemed an almost absurd. He would always be a slave to someone, whether that be Rufus or his own young wife. If he could just get Yuffie back safely, he might be content with it.

He saw lights through the trees and knew they were coming upon one of the nearby villages. Hopefully, some carefree individual had left laundry out on the line. He slowed the chocobo and dismounted, wincing as his knees creaked and his thighs throbbed.

"What are you doing?" Shake demanded. "Where are you going?"

"After we've rested, I'm getting a change of clothes."

"Fat chance," Shake scoffed, slipping out of the saddle and taking his place beside Tseng, who had tied the reins to a thick branch. Fluffy was their ticket to Yuffie. "First resting, now you're going shopping?"

"If you would prefer I attempt to remain unnoticed while dressed in blood-soaked emperor's robes, then I don't think I will endeavor to please you. Make camp. When it's full-dark, we'll proceed."

…

The next time Lin visited, Yuffie had had the night to think. Or, more accurately, to stare at the dark ceiling and chew the inside of her cheek as worry threatened to consume her. She slept fitfully on the opulent bed and woke tangled up to her waist in the sheets.

The knock at the door heralded Lin's entrance. She wore a short, dark red kimono with flowing black pants today, and her heels thudded in the thick carpet. Her eyes searched Yuffie's face a moment before she asked, "Did you sleep well?"

Petulance lanced through Yuffie. "Why pretend you care? Why the swank arrangements?"

Lin gestured for Yuffie to join her in the pair of chairs. Yuffie had started to hate the chairs; when Lin wanted to play games, she put them on the appearance of equal footing. "You would rather I shackle you and starve you?"

"I guess that wouldn't be much of a _choice_," Yuffie said with no small amount of derision.

"Now you've got the idea." Lin flashed her a dazzling, genuine smile, as if she were the teacher and Yuffie were the last second grader to grasp double-digit subtraction. "Have you thought, your highness," she began in a clear redirection of the conversation, "how much you have given to Wutai?"

Instead of throwing one of her feather pillows at Lin's immaculate face, Yuffie rose from the bed and settled in the chair opposite Lin. "Yet the people don't like me and I haven't done enough."

Lin folded her hands, face serene, a serene half-smile playing about her lips. "You've lost your mother, your father, and your youth to rescuing this country, Empress. When will it be enough?"

Yuffie agreed that she had lost much, but Wutai hadn't taken it from her. War and greed and men mad with power had done that. Wutai was her home, and it was full of people it was her duty to protect. Her mother, her father; those losses were part of life and people's cruelty, and life and people could be real assholes sometimes.

"It will be enough when I can't take it anymore," Yuffie finally said. _And I can take a hell of a lot more than this, lady._

From her voluminous sleeves, Lin produced a square of gray paper. With careful, almost reverent hands, she unfolded and smoothed it over her knee. Even though it was upside down, Yuffie recognized the front-page photograph of her and Tseng with the Jade Dragon illuminating the background. Looking at it now, she saw details she hadn't before—the way her bloody feet dragged on the pavement; how Tseng's hand under her elbow was the only thing keeping her vertical. Most importantly, the real concern written in his features: the pinch between his eyebrows, the slight frown, the way his eyes were riveted to her face.

"For a sham marriage, he looks worried about you," Lin said after a moment. She plucked the clipping from her knee, turning it over and over in her long white fingers. Yuffie's eyes tracked the movement, mesmerized. She wanted to snatch it and shred it. "No matter now that he's dead, I suppose. Just one more name to add to the list of people who have given their lives to Wutai."

Lin extended her arm, holding out the picture. Yuffie took it with only a moment of hesitation.

"May I ask you something, Yuffie?"

This use of her first name when before Lin had been the picture of manners startled the young Empress. She looked up, surreptitiously tucking the picture into the front of her robes. "If I say no, you're going to ask anyway."

Lin ignored her. "When do you get a choice? When do you get to stop giving and live a life of your own making?"

Yuffie wanted to dismiss the question outright, but she found herself thinking about it despite herself. Was Tseng really dead? Yuffie hadn't thought her relationship with Tseng could be any more complicated, but that photograph stirred up doubts. If he had real feelings for her, and he was dead… _had_ she given enough?

And what about Wutai? One of the main reasons she had taken the throne was for lack of any better substitutes. Here was this woman offering herself on a silver platter. It sounded too good to be true, but maybe, just once, the gods wanted to give her something good. Maybe this was her ticket out. Could she fade into obscurity and still live with herself as the hobo of the Nibel Mountains? How would her people respond to another upheaval after thirty years of strife and challenges? Would they remember her as the Empress Who Ran Away?

"I've studied for decades to salvage Wutai, your highness," Lin began, interrupting Yuffie's churning thoughts. "If you left your home in my hands, it would be safe."

"You've studied for this?" Something niggled at the back of her mind; something hazy but nevertheless important. She struggled to grasp it.

Lin tipped her head. "After I escaped from the brothel, I spent many years in the Shizuka Shimai Convent in the southern mountains. I didn't know, at first, what I was studying. I just read. They had the most impressive library, and I could barely string a sentence together. My education was such that reading and writing had been mostly useless to me. After a few years of healing and learning, though, I knew I wanted to fix Wutai. I wanted to give people the choices I never had."

Yuffie stared at her hands. Her thoughts warred in her head, and she felt like she might be torn in two. She looked up when Lin rose from her chair and said, "Take more time to think, your highness. You have less than two days."


	21. Chapter 21

Shake murmured something that sounded like "Yuffie" and turned over in his sleep. Tseng sighed; the younger man was easier to read than a children's book.

"Shake," Tseng called, then reached his foot out and shoved his companion in the shoulder.

He stirred, turning his creased face to the light. "Time to go?" His voice was thick with sleep.

Tseng wished he had the ability to sleep that way. It had gone away with years of balancing on a knife-edge of stress. He woke at the slightest sound. Even mornings when Yuffie thought she had snuck out soundlessly, he could hear her slipping from the bed, her smallest rustles and noises as she moved around the room.

He'd been so angry with her. For breaking into his office—no one had ever intruded on his privacy without shortly after finding themselves maimed, dead, or fully on the road to expiration. The last intruder Tseng caught in his personal items had lost an arm and an eye.

How he had wanted to hurt her. To just reach out and squeeze her until she turned purple. But over the years, urges like those had been tempered by guilt and self-loathing for his kneejerk violent tendencies. Even then, at his angriest with her, he knew he'd never actually lay a hand on her. A tiny voice would whisper _this is your wife_, and all the energy would leave him.

He thoroughly hated himself, some days, and the weeks following her discovery of his deception had been the most intense he'd felt it in years. He hadn't had much to feel guilty about recently, what with helping the president in his planet-saving adventures, but something about looking into her furious eyes had, at once, incensed him and delivered a wave of shame so strong he almost apologized then and there for hurting her. His pride wouldn't allow it, though, and now she was gone. If she were dead, he would never atone for his wrongs.

They found, to their great and second fortune (the bird being the first, though that was debatable since having Shake ride bitch was not Tseng's idea of a good time), the first small neighborhood they encountered had two clotheslines for them to raid. Unfortunately, the first one they encountered was filled with babies' onesies and women's underthings.

"Jackpot," his companion whispered, as they came across some men's shirts fluttering in the breeze. The half-moon cast a spectral glow over the fabric.

Tseng signaled for Shake to stay quiet and still, a finger to his lips, and began to creep over the grassy lawn on his knees and elbows. Progress was slow in his heavy formal robes, but he managed to keep mostly to the shadows. He had just pulled the first shirt from the line when he heard a _click_ and a light glared into his eyes.

"I wouldn't move if I were you." The old, cracked voice belonged to a woman. "Stealing from a granny? Stand still."

He sensed the hitch in the tone and rolled out of the way, trying to avoid kunai or whatever other weapons an old Wuteng woman living in a country village might be wielding. You never could tell with Wuteng woman. They were a formidable bunch.

"I mean you no harm," he said in what he hoped were confident, nonthreatening tones.

"A thief means no harm. That's a laugh."

He could see a shadowy figure behind the dinky, pathetic flashlight illuminating him. Deciding perhaps talking was better than running, he stood still. They'd already seen him. There was no helping it now.

"Now you just put down that..." The woman trailed off in what sounded like confusion. Tseng tried to stare back without squinting or blinking too much. Shake remained silent, somewhere in the foliage behind the tiny backyard.

The light bobbed and swung away from his eyes as the figure approached, and Tseng could see in the glow of the moon that she was older than he thought. Tseng did not react as she reached out as quick as a river-fish and grabbed him by the chin, tilting his head for a better angle in the moonlight. She gasped and released him. Before he could wonder what was going on, she fell to one knee with surprising agility.

"My emperor."

Tseng was struck dumb. He hadn't been afforded tons of respect in his short stint as the counterpart-ruler of Wutai. It came with that whole dog-of-the-Shinra territory. But here was this country woman, bowing to him as if she was born to do it.

"Please, don't," he said, feeling suddenly ashamed of himself, his arms overflowing with patched peasant clothes, stolen in the deceptive night. Shifting the bundle to one arm, he held out his hand and grabbed her gently by the elbow, guiding her to her feet.

She did not meet his eyes. The flashlight had been deadened by the wet grass, its glow reduced to a tiny circle of light below them, but the moon cast her face in the light. She stared at a point on his shoulder. "Honored emperor." She scanned his face but avoided eye contact. It was something he recognized as a highly traditional facet of Wuteng deference. "You're hurt."

Forgetting her politeness, she reached out a weathered hand and brushed it gently over his blood-stiffened shirtfront. "You need medical attention." And then she was patting him down, firmly, looking for wounds. Knowing there were none to be found, he stepped out of reach of her hands.

"I'm fine. It looks worse than it actually is."

"Nonsense," she scoffed, taking him by the arm. "Come inside. My name is Mayumi. What happened?" As they walked toward the house, she threw over her shoulder, "You can come out now."

Tseng almost smiled as Shake tumbled out of the shrubbery with a muffled shout.

He thought he might like this woman, and his thoughts solidified into surety as she fretted over him in the kitchen. She was undeterred as he batted her hands away from the front of his robes and insisted that nothing was wrong with him. A man Tseng assumed was Mayumi's husband stepped out of the shadows of the hallway, his eyes going wide at the sight of the three of them. He too attempted to bow, but Tseng stopped him with a raised hand.

"Never thought I'd have the emperor of the motherland in my kitchen," the man said, after some time had passed with Shake fidgeting on the other side of the kitchen table and Tseng insisting that yes, he had taken some potions, and no, he was not hurt, and, yes, he knew it was a lot of blood, but really, he was fine.

"This is my husband, Keiji." Mayumi filled a bowl with some sort of stew from a pot on the stove. A delicious aroma of spicy stewed meat and vegetables wafted over him. His mouth began to water. _When was the last time I ate?_ He saw his appetite echoed in Shake's side glance to the bowl.

"Don't you pay attention to the papers?" Keiji growled, rising and serving himself some food.

"I told you I don't read that lie-peddling nonsense anymore," she said, scowling and filling another wooden bowl to hand to Shake. "Not since they started with those horrible rumors about Lord Godo and his daughter."

Grumbling, Keiji reseated himself at the chair in the corner, rolling his eyes. It was everything Tseng could do not to plunge his face into the stew. With effort, he restrained himself, eating in small, measured bites.

"What did the papers say?" Shake asked around a mouth full of food, and Tseng shot him a look. Shake glared right back, then swallowed loudly and took another bite. Chekhov would box his ears for that.

"Do not talk with your mouth full, Mighty One," Mayumi admonished in a stern but respectful voice. Tseng wondered how she accomplished that particular combination, but his thoughts were interrupted when she sat at the table with them, a few feet back so as to allow them proper space.

"The papers," said Keiji, "are a lying pile of chocobo dung."

"They say the most awful things about Lord Godo and Lady Yuffie." Tseng noted the fondness in Mayumi's voice when she spoke their names, curious. It seemed the Kisaragis did have their allies but, true to form, they could be found in strange places.

"So... you don't believe the lies? Everyone else does," Shake said, setting his bowl down with a bitter clunk. Mayumi rose and refilled it.

"We couldn't know for sure, but the entire story and the behavior seems suspicious. And wouldn't that Reeve Tuesti be visiting if you and Lady Kisaragi were sick? Where is AVALANCHE?"

Shake looked grave, setting down his utensils. "It's good to know there are some still loyal to the Kisaragi house."

Keiji harrumphed. "We wouldn't have survived the war without Lord Godo. Anyone who says otherwise can eat my geta."

"Those who slander the Kisaragi name have forgotten the good their house has done for this country. Just because the economy's not so great doesn't mean you can pin it on one person," Mayumi added. "People are always looking for a scapegoat."

"Besides, look at what Lady Yuffie's done in just a couple of months." With a look of smug satisfaction, Keiji took another bite. "All those schools. And my crops are doing much better with her slashing seed taxes."

Tseng was amazed. He'd known she'd been busy, even admired it, but here was concrete proof of Yuffie's work. And someone was actually grateful for it. If he'd been a lesser man, he might have fallen face first into his bowl of stew.

Come to think of it, he was feeling a bit tired.

"Grandmother, grandfather," he said, addressing the couple in the Wuteng mode of respect for familiar elders, "I hate to impose, but—"

"Nonsense, my lord," Keiji interrupted, waving his spoon. "You'll stay the night here and set off in the morning."

"In the meantime," Mayumi said, picking up the bowls in front of them, "you may use the shower. We have some clothes you might be able to wear in the spare bedroom."

She stooped over to the stewpot, and Tseng rose, bowed to the both of them. They bowed lower, keeping their heads from rising above his. "I am in your debt."

"Emperor Kisaragi is never in our debt," Mayumi said quietly. "Now go. Sleep. You look as though you need it."

"There's just one thing."

"Yes? If you mean the people chasing you, we're keeping an eye out," Keiji said. He set down his bowl and put his hand on the hilt of a rough but wicked-looking machete.

"You know about Wave?"

He nodded. "It's been all over the news. Mayumi here doesn't read the papers, but like I said: I do. We'll inform you of anything strange."

Mayumi finished rinsing the bowls in the sink and dried her hands on a nearby towel. "What is going on?"

Shake opened his mouth, but Keiji lifted a hand. "Go. Sleep. We will make sure to keep you safe."

After he and Shake had been directed down a small, cramped hallway, Tseng found his way to the guest bedroom, where a tiny trunk at the foot of a twin bed opened to reveal some plain shirts with faded patterns. They were almost his size, a little big for Shake, perhaps, so he took out some pants, an undershirt, an overshirt, and some solid-looking sandals.

A creak on the floorboards had him whirling, and his eyes met Mayumi's. Her hunched little figure seemed to fill the doorway, and her eyes were sad.

"You look very much like him."

"I'm sorry?" he said, confused.

"My son. You look like him. But your eyes... they're different."

"You have a son," he said, a feeling of foreboding overtaking him.

"Had."

Suspicions confirmed, he lowered his eyes to the clothes in his arms: the forest green shirt, the brown pants, the slightly-worn sandals. "I'm sorry for your loss."

She smiled, her wrinkled face pulling with the signs of long use. "It's all right. It was a long time ago."

"May I ask...?"

"The war," Keiji said, coming to stand behind her. Tseng heard water knocking in the pipes, then a slightly muffled yelp. "Sounds like the Mighty One found the shower. Water takes a minute to heat up. Pressure ain't great either."

For the second time that night, Tseng suppressed a smile. Keiji's eyes scanned his face. "Mayumi's right. You look a lot like Kenji did."

"You kept all this," he said, searching for anything adequate to say. He didn't know how to feel in the face of their scrutiny, their quiet, accepting sadness.

Mayumi shrugged. "At first, we didn't have the heart to get rid of it. Now we figure someone else might need it."

Before he could stop himself, study his own words, Tseng blurted, "How can you stay here, how can you respect the Kisaragis, when your son died in their war?"

"Oh, child," Mayumi said, "it wasn't their war. It was everybody's. Kenji died for a country he loved, and Lord Godo felt every loss just the same as he felt his own wife's. You could see it in his eyes."

"It's in your wife's eyes, too," Keiji said. "And that's all we can ask for."

"They've taken her." His mouth ran over despite his reservations. He couldn't seem to stop, some feeling bubbling up inside him like lava.

"I know," Keiji said. "You're going to get her back."

He was speechless in the face of such utter faith. Mayumi and Keiji looked to him as if there were no way in the world he could fail, their careworn faces free of worry or questions. How was it that these people had such belief in him when he had almost none for himself?

At that moment, Shake stumbled out into the tiny hallway and appeared next to Mayumi, wrapped awkwardly in a threadbare towel. "Uh... is that the bed...?"

"Take it," Tseng said.

The old couple moved aside as Tseng left the room, and he managed to keep himself together all the way through peeling off his bloodstained robes, through the long wait for the shower to heat, and through watching the rusty red water circle down the drain.

After that, his lips curled back in silent agony.

_Yuffie._

…

Yuffie felt that she was missing something.

She knew for sure that Lin had not told her the whole story of her sister and how she had come to escape the brothel. There were pieces missing, and just like with Leviathan, Yuffie felt she was on the verge of tipping into the realm of realization. If she could just put it all together.

Wave. Who were they? Where had Lin amassed such a glut of people willing to mobilize against Wutai? Yuffie thought the members of Wave probably believed they were helping the country, but this sort of turmoil would set back progress. She understood Lin's desire for change—it was a mirror of her own passion to improve her country's situation, to put the people back on their feet. Wuteng people could be stubbornly independent, bordering on isolationist. Yuffie sometimes thought she'd only survived a wilderness teeming with ferocious, venomous beasts at the age of twelve because of sheer obstinacy.

And Lin—where was the rest of her tale? She was careful to leave out the details, so that Yuffie didn't have any information from which to infer further. She had only the facts which Lin had given her, and they were scant fare.

How had Wave managed to get the jump on them? Could they have had a mole planted, someone to inform them when the time was right for an invasion? Perhaps the guards had finally had a crucial moment of inattention at the exact time she and Tseng had been attacked. Perhaps someone had known they would be vulnerable after the auction and chose that time to take her.

Someone knocked at the door, and Yuffie jumped in surprise. "Uh, come in," she said, shaken from her complex thoughts.

"I brought you some fresh clothing," Lin said, entering and bowing shortly.

"Thanks. You can just leave it on the chair," Yuffie said, irritated. She would have a much easier time puzzling everything out if Lin would leave her in peace.

"Have you thought more about your options, your grace?" she asked.

Yuffie fought the urge to snap at her. She _was_ thinking. She just needed more time. "I still have a day, right?"

"One day. Starting tomorrow, no one will disturb you for any reason other than delivering your meals and allowing you bathroom breaks. Think carefully."

Lin's hair was swept onto the top of her head today, and her kimono was loose-fitting and drapey, leaving some of her neck and the shoulders around it exposed. As she turned to go, the curtain of her dark hair swept to the side. In the spread of pale skin just where Lin's neck met the beginnings of her back, Yuffie saw a black semi-circle with a fleck of dark red inked there.

Before Yuffie could make out what it was entirely, she was gone.

…

"Thank you for your hospitality," Shake said, bowing to Mayumi and Keiji, who bowed lower than him. Tseng echoed the movement, feeling a flicker of amusement as they looked confounded at his respect.

He said, "We are in your debt."

In reply, Keiji plucked a lumpy brown bag from the counter. "Here, you can feed these greens to your chocobo."

Shake frowned. "How did you—"

"When you get to be as old as us, Mighty One, you become a little more aware of the world around you."

Mayumi waved a hand. "We heard him warking for you last night. Don't let him fool you."

"Goodbye, my friends," Tseng said, turning from them. His sandals made a solid thunk as he crossed their tiny porch and stepped onto the lawn, Shake trailing behind him.

"Be safe," Mayumi called. "We need you."

"Where to next, smart guy?" Shake asked, as he parted some branches to reveal their bird. Before Tseng could open the bag of greens, Fluffy snatched it and spilled them on the ground, pecking and warking.

He wasn't sure how to answer Shake's question. He didn't have any leads on where they were keeping Yuffie, and he was just opening his mouth to formulate a bullshit reply when his phone jangled.

"Tseng," he said as he flipped it open.

"Boss-man," said Reno. "Made any progress? Can't say we're sittin' pretty over here."

"How's Rude?"

"Doing a little better, I think. He was lucid long enough to ask for water." Reno paused, and then, "I'm gonna be straight with you, boss-man. You gotta find Queenie or we're done for."

"Any word from the President?"

"No, but Strife texted me."

Tseng's eyebrows lifted. "Go on."

"He said he's in some sort of warehouse. Didn't know how long he'd have the phone before they found him with it. Lockhart and the kids're with him."

"Did you get anything else?"

"No, they're on lockdown. According to Strife, he was lucky to pick the phone out of the guard's pockets."

"And he remembered your number?"

Reno laughed. "I've prank called him enough times, he recognizes my digits by now."

"This is bad," Tseng sighed. "I'll have to do some reconnaissance."

"You get on that, boss-man. Rude said to tell you hi."

"Send him my regards."

"Got it. Have fun with Shake."

Tseng sighed and hung up.

"Reconnaissance?" Shake said in his ear.

"We need to figure out where they're keeping Yuffie."

"Duh. How?"

"We're going to have to capture one of them," Tseng said, turning the chocobo around and leading him back the way they had come two nights before.

"And how do you propose we do that? You really think any of them are going to talk?"

"I have ways."


	22. Chapter 22

_A note from the author: Hello, readers! I know it's been, well, quite a while, but when you're taking your final classes required to graduate with your bachelor's, things can get pretty hectic. Oh, also, I'll be in Italy in about a week. Updates may be sporadic, but we're nearing the end now, and I think it's high time we speed this up. Another chapter will be posted in a couple of days, once this one's had time to percolate._

_Hope I haven't lost y'all in the hiatus. _

_Ready, set, go!_

…

They tethered the chocobo to a tree a few miles outside the garden wall. Tseng was instantly suspicious of how quiet it seemed. He could see no guards patrolling.

Shake squinted at him. "I'm thinking..."

"Yes." Tseng pushed a strand of hair out of his eyes. They'd been sitting in the bushes for a quarter of an hour, and the chill morning air had numbed the tips of his fingers. "They're waiting for us."

"It's just too quiet." Shake rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck from right to left. Tseng heard the distinct crack of vertebrae. "Well. Looks like it's time for my skills." Tseng lifted his eyebrows in question, and Shake grinned. "I'm going to be the distraction. They'll never catch me."

"You're sure." It was phrased like a question, but Tseng was secretly glad. He was going to suggest it, but it would work better with Shake if the younger man thought it was his idea.

"I'll make a bunch of noise and draw them off, and you go in and snatch one of 'em."

Tseng nodded. "How will I know if you've been captured?"

"You'll know if it's going well," Shake said with a glint in his eyes. "I'm gonna do a little song and dance."

Tseng watched him disappear quietly into the trees, marveling at his lightness of foot. He didn't really like Shake, but there was a reason he had the title "Mighty God." He was rough around the edges, but Tseng thought in a few years, Shake could be as formidable as Yuffie. If he could get over his romantic attachment to the Empress and begin smoothing his emotional outbursts.

After about ten minutes of waiting in tense silence in the underbrush, Tseng heard Shake bellowing the twangy tones of a traditional Kalmish folk song. "_SHE'LL BE COMING 'ROUND THE MOUNTAIN WHEN SHE COOOOOMES!_"

In his mind's eye, Tseng formulated what he thought was probably an accurate picture of Shake doing a little ho-down dance, and he grimaced. He had to hand it to Shake. The alarm had been raised. He could hear the commotion from his position outside of the palace.

It wasn't long before a pair of guards came around the back of the garden wall, looking cautious and a little too fresh-faced to best a seasoned Turk. Smiling a tiny smile, Tseng waited until they had passed his spot in the foliage. Quick as a snake, he sprang for their legs and knocked both off balance at once.

The first man put his foot down on an uneven section of ground and fell in an unfortunate tangle of limbs. Tseng had his hands around the man's throat before he understood the guard was dead, his head having struck a rock on the descent. Before the other could recover completely, Tseng levered himself to his feet and tackled the second man.

He went down with a half-strangled yelp that made Tseng wince and clap a hand over his mouth. The younger man struggled admirably, but a few knocks around the head made him slow, then go limp.

Quickly, so as not to be discovered, Tseng dragged the dead one into the underbrush where he had been previously hidden, then grabbed the still-breathing partner and shoved him in there as well. It took some doing—deadweight was no fun for anyone, and these weren't scrawny individuals, but he managed. Just as he heard noise coming his direction again, Tseng stashed himself in the niche with the two bodies and hoped that the other one wouldn't wake before they passed.

The corpse was still warm, and Tseng had the frivolous and almost irresistible urge to make sure no part of his body touched the dead man. Dealing with corpses for a living hadn't made them any more pleasant to the touch.

Tseng settled in to wait. According to his rough sense of time, around twenty minutes passed with him crouched awkwardly in the thicket. Several times, frantic guards passed, the only noise their hurried, hushed voices and their tromping footsteps. They all wore the same uniform: the black robes with the Wave emblem emblazoned on the chest.

Then, he heard noise approaching from behind, the smallest crackling of twigs and leaves as Shake sidled up beside him. Tseng didn't bother drawing a weapon. Only Shake or Yuffie could be that close to soundless, and one of them was currently MIA.

"Oh, you got one," Shake murmured, looking at the other guard, still out cold from the solid knock to the head he'd taken. "And... is that a dead guy? Augh." Shake inched away from the corpse. "Did you _have_ to kill him?"

"Would you rather he awoke and reported that we'd been here?"

"I mean, it's not like they wouldn't have known, after my little show."

Tseng didn't answer. He wasn't about to correct Shake's assumption that he'd killed the man. He was there to find Yuffie.

"Help me move him," Tseng said, inching out from their nook in the ground. The commotion had died down as much as he thought it would, and it was time to get out before they were discovered or their chocobo was found.

"What about the other one?"

"Leave him."

"And if they find him?"

"It makes no difference. As you said, they know we're here. As long as he can't tell them with his own mouth."

Shake helped Tseng drag the young guard out with some difficulty. They hefted his limp, lolling body between them, watching his head swing on his relaxed neck. For a moment, he stirred, murmuring, but pressing on the knot on his head ended that rather effectively. Shake's eyes narrowed, and Tseng resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The boy just didn't have the heart for the business.

To tell the truth, Tseng had grown somewhat fond of the whole thing. Gaia always had _something_ for him to do.

Several times, they heard voices in the forest and were forced to hunker down. Once, Tseng was sure they'd be caught, but the guards became distracted by something else and went in another direction. If the Wuteng belief in Leviathan had any basis, he hoped the god was watching over them. He needed someone on his side, for once in his life.

This sort of thinking was frivolity, though. He directed his thoughts toward how they should proceed with their newly acquired hostage. He wished for Rude, who would have thrown the guard over his shoulder with ease. He and Shake would not be able to move silently and quickly with the deadweight between them.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of tromping through the brush and stopping at any hint of danger, they reached Fluffy. With their limited supplies, they bound the unconscious man—one rope for his hands, some shredded clothes around his ankles. They gagged him and threw him unceremoniously over the chocobo's rump.

Putting some distance between himself and the palace eased his nerves a fraction. After a few hours of travel, they found themselves, once again, in the general area of Mayumi and Keiji's village.

"We can't take him back to them," Shake muttered, dismounting and almost letting the guard slide off the bird. After a moment of unwieldy work, the younger man was on the ground. If the muffled sounds coming from him were any indication, he was awake. "We can't risk Wave discovering they're helping us."

Without further ado, Shake put one sandaled foot on the guard's chest and leaned in, what he apparently thought was a dangerous smile on his face. Tseng was unimpressed, but the guard's eyes widened at Shake's theatrics.

"You're gonna tell us what we need to know. And maybe we won't hurt you too much."

Tseng thought if he snorted, perhaps the effect would be ruined. He refrained. "We're going to take the gag off," Tseng said. He had decided he would include Shake in the process, as they needed the guard to take them both seriously. A united front would be the best approach. "If you scream, I'll cut your throat," he said, pulling the small blade out from inside his sleeve. It wasn't good for much, but under duress it could harm someone. With wary eyes, the guard nodded.

Repressing his distaste, Tseng reached into the guard's mouth and removed the soggy gag. The younger man lunged for his hands with teeth bared, but Tseng boxed his ears before any real damage could be done. "None of that. Let's have a civil conversation. Next time, I won't be as nice."

Shake had moved from atop the man's chest, and he struggled to sit up, his tied fists in his lap. "How do I know you won't just kill me if I tell you?"

"So you'll tell us, then," Shake said, pouncing on the phrasing.

"Who says I even know where she is? I'm still the lowest tier of the organization. I don't get told anything. You kidnapped the wrong guy." Tseng noticed the way their prisoner stared at a point over Shake's shoulder, how a muscle in his jaw jumped just once.

"You know something," Tseng said.

"I just said I don't—"

Crouching to eye level with the blade out, he said, "I think you know who I am."

"I know you're a traitorous son of a b—"

He pushed the knife into the guard's neck slightly, watching with lazy eyes as a drop of blood welled and slipped into his collar. "This is your last chance before I dispose of you."

Fear widened the whites of his eyes, caused his voice to crack in the middle. Those who knew Tseng enough to call him a dog knew him enough to be afraid. "If I tell you, you'll let me go?"

"You shouldn't give your loyalty to something unless you'd lose your life for it," Tseng said in a low voice. "Tell me."

"I... I don't know where they're keeping the Empress." When Tseng pressed, he said breathlessly, "I have an idea, though!"

"Go on," Shake said from behind him. Tseng wasn't accustomed to having an assistant to his interrogations, and he found he didn't like it.

"The warehouses on the docks—that's where we receive weapons shipments. You might find something there."

"And why does that matter to me in the least?" Tseng asked.

"I don't know! I'm just telling you all I've heard. Please, don't kill me," he blurted. "I-I think I made a mistake."

"Oh, really?" Shake said, leaning in. Tseng glanced at his busy hands, where he deliberately toyed with a small shuriken.

The young man's eyes darted rapidly between them, lit with a tiny spark of hope that they might release him. "They… they keep talking about a new order, giving the Planet to the people. But the weapons, kidnapping the Empress—it just doesn't seem right."

Shake scowled, and the young man cowered. Perhaps the guard thought Shake would empathize with him; they were similar ages, Shake was a Mighty God born and raised in Wutai as opposed to Tseng's status as an "ex"-Turk and traitor to the country.

Sensing he would get nothing of further use from this source, Tseng rose. He thought he was missing some of the puzzle pieces, but the warehouses on the docks seemed like the best place to start.

"We should dispose of him now," Tseng said dispassionately, trying to hold in his amusement at Shake's instant disgust.

"There's no need for murder, your highness," he hissed.

"Very well. Gag him and tie him to a tree. If he survives the cold, we risk a patrol finding him."

"We'll just have to take that chance," Shake said, his mind obviously made up.

Tseng didn't like it. He much preferred to dispose of loose ends and not take "chances." But he realized if he were going to get Shake to cooperate with his next move, he would have to get on his good side. Shake, as much as he didn't enjoy it, was crucial to rescuing Yuffie. He thought Furthermore, Yuffie might disapprove of him indiscriminately killing these younger members of Wave. Like it or not, misguided or not, they were still people of Wutai.

Tseng fed the bird some greens and scratched its neck as Shake secured the prisoner. The man struggled, but it was a halfhearted attempt in light of his clear defeat. Tseng adjusted Fluffy's saddle and reins, made sure his feet were still in good condition. They would have some complex maneuvering ahead of them.

…

An hour into their observation of the docks, Tseng was sure they were in the right place.

Clearly not all the warehouses were being used for Wave operations, but three of the central buildings seemed busier than possibly warranted for sunset. By now, most of the shipyard workers would have punched out and returned to their homes for dinner and preparations for nighttime. But in the jagged light of a descending sun, Tseng could see a set of inconspicuous—but unmistakably armed—men at each door. Most individuals who exited carried wrapped bundles, suitcases. It was low key and subtle. He saw now how they had been overlooked for so long.

He had a feeling Yuffie was close. Turks weren't trained to deal in "feelings." They worked based on facts. Nevertheless, he felt the security was unusually high for a shipping operation that looked relatively small. There was more going on here, and now was as good a time as any to initiate his plan.

Tseng turned to where Shake had hunkered down beside him. A palette of crates, filled with straw packing and what looked like regular boxes of table salt, blocked them from view. They had deposited their mount at the outskirts of the city, after looping around the perimeter to come out of the forest at the docks.

The younger man directed his gaze to Tseng. "What now?"

Tseng steeled himself. "This is where we part ways."

Shake's was instantly on guard, his brown eyes narrowing. "I'm not going anywhere."

Tseng opted for hoping Shake would understand if he explained himself. "I need you to retrieve backup—maybe AVALANCHE or my Turks—while I infiltrate the compound and attend to the Empress."

"And you're going to avoid getting caught how, exactly?"

"That's why you're going to make sure we have capable allies. Go find the chocobo and ride out to our waiting friends."

But Shake held up a hand, his expression a mix of anger and incredulity. "You expect me to leave Yuffie's life in your hands? Just trust you with the Empress?"

Serious as the grave, Tseng said, "That's exactly what I expect you to do."

"How about _you_ go get your little cronies and AVALANCHE while I take care of Yuffie?"

"You will fail in this case." Tseng was concerned that Shake's rapidly rising voice would alert the guards before he could convince the younger man to go with his idea.

"And you won't? What about the people holding the palace? How do you know they won't just kill you if they catch you?"

"Precisely why you must find a way to free AVALANCHE and the Turks." Tseng was struggling to remain civil, to keep his tone tame and respectful. "If you will listen for a moment—"

"Do you honestly think the Turks or even AVALANCHE will be able to help if you get caught? We can't just charge in there and hope they won't execute the two of you."

"That outcome is unlikely."

"You're missing the point," Shake snarled. He was once again invading Tseng's personal space, inching closer and closer to his superior's face.

"No, _you_ are missing the point, First Tier of the Mighty Gods," Tseng shot back. "Your first and foremost mission is to protect the ruling Empress. The best way you can fulfill your duties is to get help while I do my work."

The real truth was: Tseng didn't want to tell Shake his plan. There was no way, even looking at the place from a distance, that he would be able to successfully sneak Yuffie out. The few guards in front indicated there would be more to follow once inside. Furthermore, he had no idea how to locate her. She might not even be in this particular building. He operated at least half under educated guesswork.

His plan was going to be much riskier than he felt sensible, but he had no other choice.

Shake would not have given him the opportunity to respond even if Tseng decided to share his thoughts. Instead, he lunged for Tseng's throat, obviously intending to incapacitate him and proceed with his own plan.

This initiated a silent struggle, in which Tseng grappled with the younger, more flexible man while trying to keep quiet. If they aroused the guards' suspicions, his plan B would be eliminated before it could even begin. It was essential that he keep Shake's location a secret from Wave. He was sure he and Yuffie would fare better in the long run if they had the Turks and AVALANCHE to offer assistance.

Shake managed to roll Tseng over and straddle his hips, his hands around Tseng's throat. Tseng could feel his windpipe being crushed. If he could just bend Shake's pinky finger like—

_Crack_. Shake released him, gasping with eyes watering, and Tseng took that time to switch their positions. Now he was straddling Shake, though there was not much need to hold the young man as he attempted to cradle his broken finger.

He saw now there would be no verbally convincing Shake to do what he asked, pleaded, and/or commanded. He was too set on rescuing Yuffie himself, could not see that there were uses for him other than rushing into the jaws of death and dying some sort of martyr. He made a split second decision. Before Shake could sufficiently recover from having his pinky broken, Tseng pulled out his handgun and brought the butt down on Shake's temple. He went limp.

He searched around Shake's person until he located a mobile phone, then punched in Reno's number and left a note in the texting section for him to call the redheaded Turk for further instructions on how to proceed. Tseng only hoped that when Shake came to, he would have a change of heart and go for help.

Now was the time to approach, when the daylight was still good and there was less chance of him being shot on sight. He would leave behind his handguns and also the Twin Viper with its materia equipped. Perhaps Shake would take them, he didn't know, but he wanted to be sure not to give the guards any reason to attack first and ask questions later.

So it was with great apprehension at his foolhardy plan that he chose the most direct route—thinking all the while that Yuffie would be laughing until she cried to see him do this—and walked out from behind the crates and down the main dock. There would be no tragically unattended back staircase for this mission, so he walked forward with his hands in the air until someone noticed his approach.

The response was immediate. "Lay down on the ground with your hands out!" one guard shouted as three men rushed toward him. He did not comply with the demand; he had already demonstrated his unarmed status, and he refused to lay in the dirt for these people. He was the Emperor, coerced or not.

"I am unarmed," Tseng said, stiffening as two of the men stood on either side of him and pointed guns. "Take me to the Empress."

"Captain," said one of the smaller ones. His face still held the traces of baby fat which remained after puberty, and Tseng felt a momentary disgust for the teenagers who had been roped into this nonsense. "I think that's…"

"Emperor Kisaragi," the Captain of the guards acknowledged, his lips thinning in recognition. He was a tall, broad man with a hard face, and Tseng wondered where this man had come from—where all the members of Wave had come from. "You would just surrender? I thought a dog of the Shinra would use more interesting tactics."

Tseng could feel all the blood had drained from his arms, so he let them drop smoothly to his sides. The guards twitched a little, but no bullets entered his brain. "I only wish to see my wife."

"You heard the man," barked the Captain with no small amount of amusement. "The Emperor wants to see his wife."

Tseng followed the Captain, the guards moving as a tense unit around him. The noise of their armor clanking in the still air did nothing to help his feelings of unease at this plan. Tseng wished the nervous-looking one would relax a little; his trigger finger seemed a mite jumpy. As they walked, Tseng could feel the gun's snout jabbing his side.

"How did you find us?" the Captain asked as they entered the front doors. The inside was a bustle of activity—men moving shipments, stacking crates, unpacking weapons. The place was a veritable hive.

"Lucky guess," Tseng said, only half-lying. The Captain did not seem satisfied by this answer, but he didn't question further. "What are you shipping?"

"We ask the questions here, Emperor."

Tseng lapsed into silence. If he couldn't get answers from them, he would observe. They came to a back wall with another door, this too heavily guarded. At some signal from the Captain, the two guards moved aside. As they were opening the door, however, a crash sounded.

They turned in unison at the commotion. Men were yelling and scrambling to pick up the pieces of a stack of shipping crates that a forklift had glanced, tipping them to the concrete ground. Several of the crates had shattered, or the lids had popped off, their contents littering the floor. The Captain of the guards was ushering him out of the room almost before Tseng saw the familiar shimmering white powder drifting out of the cracked glass phials.

_Weapons? Diamond Dust? What sort of operation is this?_

"Get a move on," said one of the guards, shoving him down the corridor. They didn't have far to travel before they arrived at a set of stairs which descended a flight into a dim, carpeted corridor. The place looked bland, and he thought the doors lining the hallway might be offices, judging by the scratched-off nameplates.

The guards chose one of these doors to unlock and shove him through. He hit the carpeted ground in complete darkness. After groping for a moment, he came upon a lamp, which he switched on. There was a small cot in one corner and a comfortable-looking chair to sit in. The décor was not expensive; it was meant to house a prisoner or prisoners.

Tseng hoped this Superior came to see him soon. He needed to find Yuffie. The thought that she could be somewhere in this building bolstered him, and a feeling he tried not to label hope churned in his gut. Tseng had learned to fear hope, over the years. It always ended in disappointment.


End file.
